Mudblood Mistress I & II
by JoseHood
Summary: Hermione Granger always wanted to make something of herself. When she discovers that she is a witch, she decides to take the wizarding world by storm. She is sorted into a house despised by all... a house that despises her. The first years of Hogwarts are not easy. A Muggle-born Slytherin tries to make her way in the world and learns it is not so easy to storm a castle. AU. grey!Hr
1. Back to School

**A/N:**

 **So I like thinking up stories.**

 **And I wasn't thrilled with DH.**

 **I read some fanfiction.**

 **I wrote this.**

 **For me, Hermione is a great Slytherin. She's devoted to her goals, ruthless when she needs to be, and needs to prove herself. I think my Hermione in this story is fairly canonical, just maybe boosting her ambition a bit and playing around with her motivations. She's still unstable as hell and loves being the best at everything. Without the influence, or friendship, of Harry & Ron she goes through Hogwarts on a very different path. Instead, she gets to deal with Snape, Malfoy, Pansy and the rest of the snake pit. The story mostly follows cannon (with some exceptions, of course) up until Hermione sticks her big bossy nose into things (which happens fairly quickly) and the shit hits the fan, full blown AU (That'll be a few years, though).**

 **I'm not a giant fan of good vs. evil, so most of the characters will be somewhere in the middle. Hermione, especially, is no angel. I have plans! for nearly every character you see in the story (OK, Crabbe and Goyle are just wall hangings...). Some of them may (will) die, but it is a sacrifice I'm willing to make.**

 **I try not to bash anyone or let my personal feelings on the characters get into the way. JK put them there so I should find a way to utilize them effectively or they shouldn't feature. If someone seems to be the butt of everything, it's probably because they are judging Hermione and she's judging them right back. At the forefront will be Ron and Pansy, with a bit of Dumbledore on the side, but I assure you they are more than caricatures (I have plans!).**

 **On that point, as of right now I don't see any reason why this story will stray from Hermione's perspective. We're with her from start to finish, through good times and bad.**

 **Pairings: Nope. Nothing is guaranteed for anyone. We'll see how the characters evolve (and my plans! go out the window).**

 **MMI &II is completed at around 55k words. It is only the beginning.**

* * *

 **Chapter I**

 **Back to School**

The doctors Granger saw their daughter off on the mundane side of Platform 9¾. They had seen the Hogwarts Express the previous year so they had no need to see it again. Even in the magical world, a train was just a train, they reasoned. Hermione did not mind saying her goodbyes a few minutes early. Once she stepped through the barrier, she was in a completely different world. Her parents wouldn't understand. Twelve months earlier Hermione had crawled through the rabbit hole to find a paradise of magic and wonder, intent on making a name for herself. Today she only hoped for a new start.

Hermione trudged through the chaos of the platform. Steam was beginning to fill the air above her as the Express was threatening to pull away at any moment. Her eyes swept back and forth to detect any danger. Hermione lurched to a stop when she spotted a glint of red hair through the crowd. A girl not much smaller than Hermione was receiving an enthusiastic hug from a rather rotund and matronly woman. She scanned the area around the two for any other redheads, but the only other was a tall boy sporting a shiny badge and looking somewhat uneasy as he stood by the pair. He finally pulled the girl away from her mother and led her onto the train. Hermione restarted her wary approach to the train.

She lugged her trunk up the steps onto the locomotive and made her way down the hallway. On either side of her, other students were queuing to enter compartments and pack away their own trunks. Hermione peered into each room as she passed. Many of them were already full. She didn't know most of the occupants. The palpable excitement and cheer that radiated from everyone else was lost on Hermione. She did her best to stay out of the way while making steady progress towards the back of the train.

A loud commotion rang out behind her and Hermione cringed. A pair of redhead boys sprinted past her, laughing outrageously. They were quickly followed by a dark skinned girl, shouting, "Weasley! You little mongrels!"

Once she checked that there were no more chasers, Hermione continued. It was tough going. She had to stop every few feet to wait for someone to load their trunk into their compartment. The next two rooms were all full, but Hermione saw an empty seat in the one after that. Inside was a gaggle of girls she recognized as Ravenclaws. A dark haired girl seemed to be commanding the attention of the rest, talking energetically with her hands. Hermione decided that it probably wasn't the best place to spend her trip, and started to roll on when she caught sight of the perfectly combed blond hair and pale face of a boy swaggering down the hall. A pair of great apes and a rather enchanted poodle of a girl flanked Draco Malfoy. "My _father_ " was all that Hermione heard before she ducked into the compartment.

None of the girls seemed to notice her entry, and she felt a bit awkward to be intruding. She recognized the Patil sisters sitting side by side, silky black hair falling over their shoulders. "Excuse me, Padma," Hermione said in a soft voice to the twin she knew better, "Do you mind if I sit here?"

Padma looked up at her and gave her a thin smile. "Sure." She said, turning back to the conversation.

Hermione slid the door closed. She opened her trunk and retrieved the _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5_. She dropped the tome onto her seat, shut her trunk and looked up at the overhead storage. There was room enough for the trunk, the only problem being how to get it there. Hermione grabbed one end of the trunk and lifted. It was quite heavy but she pulled an end onto her seat. It would be much easier to get up there if she had some help, but a quick glance around the compartment told her that there would be none forthcoming. Perhaps if she had gotten a few Hufflepuffs they might have given her a hand. Though, perhaps not…

She stared at her trunk for a second before a thought hit her. "You're a witch." Hermione said to herself. She pulled her wand out with deliberation and performed the simple swish and flick. " _Wingardium Leviosa_." The trunk shuddered into a hover before slowly raising towards the storage space. Hermione coaxed it into settling down, and rewarded herself with a smile of self-satisfaction. The other Patil – Parvati, a Gryffindor – raised her eyebrows at her magical problem-solving but turned back to the other girls without commenting.

Hermione threw herself down and set her book on her lap. Getting her first real look at her fellow occupants, she didn't recognize anyone but the twins. She wasn't even sure any of them were in her year. Definitely not the upper years, but perhaps third years. Maybe even fourth years. The ringleader, who was babbling about something that made everyone giggle, certainly looked more like a young woman than girl. She was Chinese, Hermione guessed. British, by the accent, but ethnically foreign. However, as she looked from the twins to the girl, Hermione had learned, though in the muggle world demographics were split between races, in the wizarding world her own blood status made her the odd duck out.

The conversation turned out to be about boys. She held a respect for Ravenclaws, who were supposed to be studious and knowledgeable, but she was more than a little disappointed in their choice of topic. Suppressing a sigh, Hermione opened her book to the section on shielding spells.

 _The **Shielding Charm** (_Protego _) is a moderately difficult spell to master completely. Executed properly, the charm will protect the user by blocking unfriendly spells. A quick reaction with the Shielding Charm can mean the difference between life and death for any witch or wizard. Coupled with the **Disarming Charm** , the Shielding Charm offers a non-violent way to diffuse a confrontation._

 _The Shielding Charm can be operated in several different ways. A standard shield will create a barrier between the caster and an attacking spell, dissipating the spell before it can reach its target. Alternatively, the Shielding Charm can be used to redirect the offensive spell around the caster. This strategy can be used to lessen the stress on the caster, though it requires quicker reactions, hand-eye coordination and focus. This technique is closely related to **Hex-deflection**_ _(See_ Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4). _Lastly, a combination of both can be used to send the attacking spell back at the opponent. One such counter-attack is usually not expected and can throw an opponent off. Reflecting a spell requires great magical strength, reactions, and confidence, and should not be attempted without proper supervision._

Hermione blinked when a hand waved in front of her. It took another wave to get her to look up, and when she did, she saw the whole cabin looking at her. "Is it?" the Asian girl asked.

"Uh, what?" Hermione squeaked back.

The queen bee frowned at having to ask again. "Is that a fifth year charms book?"

Hermione knew the answer but turned the book to see the cover to confirm it. "Yes, it appears to be."

"But you aren't a fifth year." She said, a hint of accusation seeping in.

"No. I'm a second year." Hermione answered.

"Why are you reading it?"

Hermione opened the book and showed it to the girl. "Shielding charms." Her expression didn't change. "I just thought that it was silly that something as simple as defending yourself from spells isn't taught until fifth year."

"Oh." The girl's frown melted a little. "I never thought about it." _Very Ravenclaw_ , Hermione wanted to laugh, but didn't. "Anyway, I'm Cho." She extended her hand. "Third year." Cho said, not quite pompously, but obviously thinking it worth mentioning the age difference.

Hermione eyed the hand for a moment, and then leaned forward to take it. "Hermione."

Cho smiled. "So can you cast it? The shielding spell?"

"Well," Hermione murmured, and thought an impressive introduction was in order. "I think I have the fundamentals down. It's a rather simple concept don't you think?"

"I suppose." The girl replied. Obviously, she didn't think so. "I've never seen you in the common room."

Hermione cocked her head.

"You are Ravenclaw, right?" She asked.

"No. Slytherin."

"Oh." Cho nodded and gave an apologetic smile. "Well, _as_ a Ravenclaw, I can appreciate your curiosity." Hermione couldn't help but detect a bit of condescension. Cho turned back to her friends and continued as if Hermione was not there at all.

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

Hermione sat at the back of the Great Hall, at the end of the Slytherin table staring at the old, worn wooden surface. "Weasley, Ginerva" was called at the end of the sorting ceremony, with a cry of "Gryffindor!" and an explosion quickly following. Hermione didn't know if the school could handle another Weasley. Four was already too many.

The feast appeared from nowhere and the hall descended into the chaos of the welcoming feast. Down the table, Hermione could hear Malfoy spouting to his loyal cronies. "I can't help but notice that Potter and his Weasley pet aren't here." He cackled. "Maybe the old git has expelled them. Wouldn't be surprised." He was rewarded with a chorus of laughter. "Of course, if not, my father could easily arrange it. He is on the Board of Governors, you know."

Hermione tried to ignore him, but she was curious if he was right. Potter had seemed decent enough when she had met him a year before, though he never so much as said 'hi' after she was sorted into Slytherin… other than that business with the troll. But that was Weasley's fault. Oh, Weasley… That boy was a right menace. As opinionated as Malfoy, as self-righteous as Potter. And desperate for attention, though he would never admit it. The pair of them together brought the worst out in each other.

When the feast was over, Hermione was the first out of the hall. She made her way quickly down to the dungeons. " _Astus_." She said to the wall, and the doors to Slytherin House opened in front of her. She sped down the stone stairs into the atrium.

Slytherin common room had a central sitting area sunken into the ground, surrounded by pillars and an outer promenade. Black leather couches and armchairs circled a central fireplace. Forest green tapestries emblazoned with the Slytherin House crest adorned the walls. Nooks in the outer promenade held variations of chairs and benches around small tables lit by torchlight. Green rugs were spaced throughout the room.

Hermione walked straight through the room and down more stairs to the dorms. At the bottom, the hall split off two ways. To the right were the girls' rooms, boys to the left. Hermione went right and entered the second year room. It was circular and adorned similar to the common room. Emerald curtains hung from five four-post beds spaced evenly around the perimeter. Next to each bed was a desk, a small leather chair, a dresser, and each girl's trunk. The center of the room had a circular table for group activities.

Hermione shrugged off her robes and tossed them onto her bed. She pulled out her towel, an oversized tee shirt, and her baggy sleeping pants from her trunk. Placing her wand underneath her pillow, she started for the bathroom, but hesitated. She wondered if she had time to strip before the other girls arrived. It was easier to do it out here, instead of having to find a place to put them near the shower. Calculating quickly in her head, Hermione quickly pulled off her clothes and scuttled into the bathroom. She hadn't even turned on the water before she heard her roommates enter the room.

The water quickly warmed. Hermione tossed her tower over the bar and stashed her sleep clothes next to the sink. She washed herself thoroughly but decided to forgo her hair for tonight.

She dried herself quickly, stepped gingerly out of the shower and pulled on her baggy pants. The sound of a flushing toilet made her yelp and almost dive for her shirt. Hermione had just pulled it over her head when Millicent excited the stall on the far side of the bathroom. Hermione quietly padded out into the main room, where her other roommates were shouting with glee.

Tracey was jumping from bed to bed, laughing. Pansy was following her on the floor, twirling around. "We're back!" Tracey shrieked.

Daphne sat on the side of her bed slipping off her shoes, a silly grin breaking through her ladylike decorum. Pansy flopped down on her bed, hugging Daphne around the waist. "We're back, Daph!" Tracey pounced across the gap and grabbed Daphne across her shoulders, pulling her down onto the bed. The girls collapsed into a fit of giggling.

Hermione made her way to her own bed, retrieved her spell book from her trunk and laid out her towel to dry. She retrieved her wand and settled down in bed to read. She was sure the girls would be up for a while yet. She thought of closing the curtains to settle down to sleep, but was too tempted by the large book. She looked to her left, where the three girls were now all laying across the bed and sharing stories about their summers. To her right, Millicent was leaning against her own bed, taking off her shoes. "Hello, Millie." Hermione said. The larger girl nodded at her, then walked over to the girls and slid herself carefully onto the end of Daphne's bed.

"My father took us to Paris," Tracey was saying. "You know, say what you want about muggles, but they sure know how to build things."

"Muggles?" Pansy snorted.

"Oh yes. Have you seen the Eiffel Tower? Or Versailles? They are magnificent." Tracey prattled on.

"The Champs-Élysées is really pretty." Millicent ventured.

"Definitely." Tracey agreed. Millicent smiled.

"Please." Pansy shook her head. "That's nothing. I was invited to Malfoy Manor a few weeks ago."

"Ooohh…" cooed Tracey. Daphne, who had been doing snow angels on her bed, perked up.

"It's really something else." Pansy sat up a little straighter. "Now, my family's house is big. You've seen it, Tracey." She nodded. "But Malfoy Manor… whew. It is big. I mean, _really_ big. Massive. There are these pillar you walk through to get to the doors, and when you enter, you are in this big atrium, granite floors, a giant spiralling staircase to the upper floors, its magnificent. And Draco showed me around the grounds. They have their own Quidditch Pitch. Well, not full sized, but top quality. He's _really_ good. I think he's going to make the team this year."

Hermione was watching the girls out of the corner of her eye. Daphne was examining her nails now, but Hermione could tell she was listening intently. "I've seen Mr. Malfoy." Daphne offered vaguely, tearing attention away from Pansy. "When he was visiting my father on business."

"Yes. Draco's father is _very_ impressive." Pansy blurted. "Like, whenever he enters the room everyone looks at him and he's like, 'Oh do carry on, everyone', like he owns everything. Draco was saying how he owns the whole Wizengamot." She turned to Millicent. "That's our government." Millicent just nodded, and Hermione almost tasted the vomit in her mouth. "I got to sit next to Draco on the train, and at the feast. He is quite charming, you know. And _so_ handsome."

"Oh, give him a few more years." Daphne said idly. "He'll grow into himself."

Pansy gave an evil grin. "Why wait when I can make him mine now?"

"I'm going to wait until he figures out what he _really_ wants."

Tracey suppressed a little laugh.

"You think you can walk in and take him away from me after I've had him for a few years?" Pansy smirked.

"Oh, I'm sure of it." Daphne slowly sat up, and lifted her shirt up over her head, then stood and pulled her skirt down suggestively before leaning back into Tracey, allowing Pansy to take in her pale body. "I have confidence in myself."

Hermione felt a slight flush when she understood Daphne's meaning. She was now staring at the other bed where Daphne's milky body was sprawled. Overall, her slender body had all the right proportions, and Hermione was more than slightly envious of her unbridled confidence. Hermione had never really considered her own body but now thought that she was nothing compared to the princess laying in the bed next to her. Even Tracey, who was definitely a step down from Daphne, had a much pretty face. Pansy, even, must have been attractive to boys if Malfoy had really taken an interest in her.

She decided it was time to call it a night and pulled the curtains closed around her bed and dove under the protective skin of the blankets. At least she was better looking than Millicent.

She hoped.

* * *

 **Conniving twelve year old girls...** **Watch out, young wizards.**

 **A peek at Hermione's first year is next.**


	2. Hermione the Witch

**A/N: Okay.. I said a peek at first year, but this is actually Hermione's introduction to magic and your introduction to her family.**

 **There will only be four chapters concerning Hermione's first year, inserted every other chapter so we can get on with the story. They will be labeled with the approximate date they occurred. First year just wasn't that interesting (unless you want 6+ months of lonely!Hermione, which I do not want to write). That's what happens when the plot completely passes you by. Hermione's general experience will be fairly obvious.**

 **There are 23 chapters in total.**

* * *

 **Chapter II**

 **Hermione the Witch**

 **Summer 1991**

"You should go outside, Hermione," Helen Granger called from the kitchen.

"I'm reading, mother," Hermione groaned, curled up on the couch with her nose stuck in a rather short book, only two-hundred small pages.

"It's a nice day," her mother continued.

Turning the page, Hermione ignored her mother while her father dropped down on the other side of the couch. "You should go outside, Hermione," he parroted. "Go round up the neighbors and start a game of football."

"Why do that when I can watch the game with you?" Hermione said sweetly, eyes still glued to the pages.

Her father smiled. "There is always that."

"Oh, you never actually watch, dear," Helen said, walking into the living room. "Go enjoy your summer. Dan, I'll be going in to the office in a bit."

Hermione put on her pouty face. "You've forbidden me from studying for school, mother. How much more do you want me to relax?"

Her father turned on the telly. "I could always teach you to box," he mused to himself.

Helen just stood over her, head tilted, until Hermione sighed and stood. "Very well. I can see I am not wanted here." She flicked her chin up in a huff and stomped to the front door, bringing the book with her.

"Be sure to be home by dark," her father called as the door slammed.

Hermione wrinkled her nose at the bright sun. She surveyed the front yard – manicured green grass, a grey cat sniffing around the garden, a thin stone path to the sidewalk – before deciding to take a seat in the shade of the tree on the edge of the lot.

Ungrateful parents. They didn't understand how lucky they were. Hermione didn't ask for much. Books, food, and a roof. She could survive off that. Not like the other brats running around the neighborhood, screaming for no reason. Her parents usually complied, especially during the school year. They demanded top marks: social interaction was secondary. Hermione stuck her tongue out at the thought. Children her age were obtuse. They couldn't fathom concepts Hermione had mastered years earlier.

Case and point: education. Her classmates thought of school as the thing they did to pass the time. A place to have fun and hang out with friends. Hermione, however, knew that she had to succeed in school if she ever expected to make something of herself. Her parents didn't become doctors with the perfect house by skiving off. No, Hermione was not going to be one of those people who just floated through life. She was going to do something with her life. It did not matter to her that, at the moment, she was not sure what _exactly_ that something was. But it was going to be _something_. Something great. At minimum, she was going to write a premier textbook, if her other plans did not pan out. A Nobel Prize would be acceptable. Prime minister, if she wanted to go into politics. Hermione hadn't thought out the details yet.

With these thoughts circulating through her head, she realized that she had reread the same stanza several times already.

 _Saith: "_ Mea culpa _; Thy Mercy, Lord, I beg_

 _For all the sins, both the great and the less,_

 _That e'er I did since first I drew my breath_

 _Unto this day when I'm struck down by death."_

 _His right-hand glove he unto God extends;_

 _Angels from Heaven now to his side descend._

Hermione frowned. This guy was a real piece of work. Most knights were. But this guy was celebrated for being a complete twat.

She froze as a shadow passed over her book. Looking up slowly, Hermione saw an older woman standing before her. At first look, she seemed to be wearing a heavy, dark gown, but Hermione realized that she was actually wearing robes, and a pointy hat to boot. She had a stern, but not unkind, face. The woman was considering Hermione with an odd look. Hermione's frown deepened. She had not noticed the woman approach. That was not normal.

"Are you Miss Granger?" the woman spoke. "Hermione Granger?"

"What do you want?" Hermione said in a small voice, closing her book. Her eyes flicked back to her house. People did not just walk up to and talk to Hermione.

"My name is Minerva McGonagall. You are, indeed, Miss Granger?"

"Yes."

"Excellent," McGonagall said with a small smile on her lips. "It is my privilege as Deputy Headmistress to extend to you an invitation to the esteemed Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Perhaps you could take me to your parents?"

Hermione stared blankly back. "Aren't you a bit old for this, Minerva?"

McGonagall started. "Excuse me?" she croaked.

"It is a bit juvenile, isn't it? I mean, Hogwarts isn't even a convincing name. And wizardry? You couldn't possibly think I would fall for it," Hermione peered around, looking for the neighbor boy. "Who put you up to this? Was it James? The miserable wretch…"

"My dear girl, I am _not_ trying to dupe you," McGonagall said in a huff. From her robes, she produced a letter addressed: _To Ms. H. Granger_. On the other side was a seal with the name _Hogwarts_. "You have been accepted into the most prestigious academy of magic, headed by the greatest wizard in the world, Albus Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore?" Hermione pondered, tracing the seal. She slid a finger under the flap and tore the letter open. Her mind was refusing the notion, but a small voice inside convinced her to humor the situation.

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

 _Headmaster Albus Dumbledore_

 _(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warock,_

 _Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

Hermione didn't bother reading the rest. "This Dumbledore seems to be a happening guy. What'd he do, save the world?"

"Albus is one of my dearest friends, a great man," McGonagall replied.

"Magic?" Hermione posited after a moment.

"Of course, we do not expect you to believe just because you get a letter. That is why I am here," McGonagall retrieved a stick from her robes. "Ah, let's see," She swished the stick through the air, and pointed at a stone laying in the grass.

Hermione watched with what she hoped looked like a bored face.

Whatever look it looked like, it was wiped clean as she jumped away from the stone that leapt into the air. "SHIT!" she squealed, covering her mouth automatically, as she did whenever she imitated her father's sports cries.

"Language, dear," McGonagall seemed to be suppressing a grin. With another flick, the stone morphed into a small football and then proceeded to change colors every few seconds. Hermione stared with rapt attention for a full minute before McGonagall changed the ball back to a stone and dropped it to the ground.

Hermione transferred her stare back to McGonagall. "So… Magic..."

"Magic," the older woman confirmed.

"You're a witch."

McGonagall nodded.

"So, where is your broomstick… and your cauldron and the warts and snaggletooth and cat and…and…" Hermione spouted until McGonagall raised a hand.

"I haven't the time to ride my broomstick these days, unfortunately. My cauldron, as well, has been gathering dust. Warts and snaggletooth, I am pleased to say, are not part of my repertoire. The cat, though," now she really was grinned. "If you can keep a secret…"

Hermione nodded vigorously. The witch peered back towards the street to make sure no one was looking, and then began to grow fur. In an instant, she had morphed into a silver tabby. Hermione's mouth was still hanging open when McGonagall transformed back into her human body. "Now, dear, I will have to speak to your parents."

Hermione nodded and stood, motioning towards the door. She still had her wits about her. There was no way she was going to turn her back on a stranger, especially one with such extraordinary powers.

"Mum? Dad?" she called as she opened the front door.

"Hermione, there is still sunlight left. I didn't mean sit outside for five minutes…" Helen trailed off as she saw McGonagall. Her father stood abruptly.

"This is Mrs. McGonagall, mum. She's a witch!"

Helen waved her over quickly. "What do you mean, honey?"

"She turns into a cat," Hermione said flatly. "I mean it. She can do magic, and she wants me to go to her school!"

Her father had made his way over to them and put a hand on her shoulder protectively. "Magic doesn't exist, Hermione. I would have thought you would know that."

"Daddy, I would have thought you would know that I wouldn't be fooled by illusions. It's real magic," Hermione protested.

McGonagall coughed politely from the door. "Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Pleased to meet you."

"Yes, quite," Helen said. "I don't appreciate whatever it is you are doing. My daughter does not deserve this shameful harassment…" she trailed off once more as McGonagall waved her wand. The couch slowly levitated off the floor.

"Now that's not possible," Hermione's father muttered.

"I assure you, it is quite possible. And, with training, Miss Granger here will be able to do it, too."

Hermione squeaked with joy, bouncing on her feet and staring up at her parents. "You hear that? I can do _magic_! Please let me go to the school! Please, daddy?"

Her father was frowning, still looking between McGonagall and the rogue couch, which was now beginning to spin in the air. "That is all well and good, but how do we know that? What makes you think that Hermione can do this too?"

McGonagall placed the couch down slowly. "Hogwarts knows when a magical child has been born, and Miss Hermione's name has been placed on a list. Because she is born to muggles, which is to say non-magical types, a special messenger needs to make contact. That is I. I can assure you that, as Miss Hermione's name has been placed on the list, she is a witch." Hermione looked up expectantly at her father, who seemed to be chewing it over. "You have noticed… strange things happen around you daughter?" McGonagall prompted. "When she is excited, or sad or threatened? Things happen that you can't quite explain."

"Oooh!" Hermione's hand shot into the air unconsciously.

McGonagall's lip curled into a smile. "Yes, Miss Granger?" she said with the practiced tone of a teacher.

"One day, at school, some boys tried to take my book," she blurted.

"And how did that turn out?"

"The table clamped them like a bear trap!"

"Indeed?"

"They never tried it again."

Helen ruffled Hermione's bushy hair fondly. "Book are to Hermione as football is to Daniel. Can't keep them apart."

"Which isn't to say I am not intelligent," her father interjected, as he did when Helen brought up his passion for sports. "A doctor, you know."

"Indeed," McGonagall agreed. "By all accounts, I am an excellent teacher. However, in my day, I was quite the athlete. Quidditch is our sport of choice. You will learn more about it at Hogwarts."

"Quidditch?" Mr. Granger mused. "Do magical sports still have a ball?"

"Four," McGongall confirmed. "And you play while flying on brooms."

"Flying?" Mr. Granger was taken aback. "That doesn't sound safe."

"Two of the balls are bewitched to knock you off your broom, as well."

"Oh my," said Helen.

"And the other two? You still try to score somehow, I assume?" To her father, a sport was a sport, regardless of magic.

"One is assuredly mundane, and you try to throw it through one of three hoops. The other flies around, trying to escape capture. That is the snitch. Once it is caught, the game is over."

"Whoever gets the most hoops wins?"

"The snitch is worth one hundred and fifty points. Each hoop is ten."

"Intriguing."

"But what about the classes?" Hermione interjected. She had heard enough about the game to know it was a waste of time. "And books? Where do we get them? I assume they are not sold to non-wizards, or I would have seen them."

"There is a booklist enclosed in your acceptance letter. There is an orientation for muggle-borns and their family in a few days at King's Cross Station, London." Hermione's heart sank.

"A train station?" asked Hermione's father.

"Indeed. It is where she will board the Hogwarts Express on September first."

"I need to ride a train to get there?" Hermione asked quietly.

"Yes. Hogwarts is a boarding school. From September to June, you will live amongst you magical peers."

"I have to live there for nine months?" Hermione almost whispered. Hermione had never been away from home for longer than a few weeks, and that was only on holiday with her parents.

"The castle becomes more of a home than a school once you start."

"Hogwarts is in a castle?" Helen asked, her interest piqued. Vacations to the continent were her idea.

"Hogwarts is a castle. Founded by four of the greatest witches and wizards of their age. The houses in which the students live are named after them. Hufflepuff, full of diligent students; Ravenclaw, scholarly types whom you might connect with, Miss Granger; Slytherin," McGonagall paused, possibly trying to think of what to say, then continued. "And Gryffindor, my house. You won't find a braver soul than a true Gryffindor."

"So you get put into your house based on your personality?" Hermione queried. It both excited her, and worried her. If she lived with only bookish people, she would have no trouble studying. She would also probably never leave the library. Not a terrible thing, but not ideal, either. Entering into a new world would have its challenges and having friends that were more outgoing would help a lot.

Having friends at all would nice, to be fair.

"Among other things."

"How do you chose? You've only known us for a few weeks, at most," Hermione puzzled.

" _I_ do not chose. We have a magical artefact that looks inside you. It chooses the house that will benefit you the most. You, for example, though I have only just met you, I would assume would enter into Ravenclaw. Their common room has its own library."

Hermione frowned. "And what if I don't want to just read for the rest of my life?"

Helen snorted behind her. "My dear girl," McGonagall started, "What were you reading when I arrived?"

Hermione looked down at the book she was still holding. "It's a poem. _The Song of Roland_."

"And what is it about?"

"A ninth-century knight." Hermione admitted. McGonagall gave her a patronizing look, though she probably thought it was a kindly face, expecting Hermione to answer her own question. It did not, though. "I'm not enjoying it, though, really. The guy is a twit."

"Hermione," Helen said sportingly. "Language."

"He really is!" Hermione objected. "He gets his whole army killed."

"That is what knights did, yes? Sounds to me like a brave man doing his duty," McGonagall offered, obviously favoring the attributes of her house.

"He refused to call for help. He killed twenty thousand of his own men, and he is celebrated for it."

"Why are you reading it if you do not like it?"

"Because _mother_ doesn't want me studying any math or sciences," Hermione pouted.

"You would rather be studying. Quite the Ravenclaw attitude," McGonagall stated. "Anyway, you will need to go shopping in Diagon Alley, in London, to buy your school supplies and uniform. Everything is enclosed in the letter."

* * *

 **Who spotted the mythology gag?**

 **Next: Second year classes begin!**


	3. Actual Defence

**Happy New Years**

 **Disclaimer: Gilderoy's lines are, for the most part, quoted or paraphrased from HP:CS.**

 **A/N:** **OOC warning...**

 **Canon Gilderoy isn't quite up to the task I put in front of him, so I have tweaked him a bit.**

 **Also, I prefer movie Snape to book Snape and it might show.**

 **While I'm at it, I should say that Draco has been downgraded from 'Massive Cock' to a slightly lesser 'Snarky Asshole'. He is also sort of a person in this story, more so later on.**

* * *

 **Chapter III**

 **Actual Defence**

Gilderoy Lockhart appeared at the top of the stairs that led to his office and fixed the classroom with his award-winning smile. "Good afternoon, my precious little adders and badgers, and welcome to your Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Your teacher? Me!" he chuckled to himself. Some Hufflepuffs managed a smile, but the Slytherin students didn't react. "My name is Gilderoy, but you already knew that. Order of Merlin, Third Class. Honorary member of the Dark Force Defence League. And I don't think I need to mention," his teeth seemed to sparkle, "Five time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award." Lockhart bounded down the stairs carrying a stack of parchment, which he began to pass out. "I've decided to begin this year with a quiz."

Hermione heard muffled groans emanate from the boulders called Crabbe and Goyle. She looked over at them, sitting behind Malfoy and Pansy. Malfoy looked miffed. Word has spread that Potter and Weasley had been seen flying an enchanted car by muggles (mostly by way of the howler that shrieked "RONALD WEASLEY" at breakfast), but they had not been expelled. Hermione was herself disappointed that they only received detentions. "Now, I don't expect you to already know this year's material, but I did assign a reading list." Lockhart paused by a desk to stroke the top book of the stack of seven with a loving hand. Hermione smiled to herself, having already read the whole list. Well, most of it. She had prioritized it when she got her book list. It wouldn't do to let down the new teacher.

 _1._ _What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?_

Her smile faded into an intense frown as the rest of the fifty-four questions only pertained to the idiosyncrasies, opinions and trivia about the great Gilderoy Lockhart. Disappointed was an understatement. Nonetheless, it was a quiz and Hermione filled it out with confidence.

"Tut, tut," Lockhart called out when he had collected the quizzes. "Hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in _Year with the Yeti_. But Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair care potions. In fact, full marks. Where is Hermione Granger?" Hermione raised her hand.

"Of course Hermuddy would…" Pansy whispered, snickering. Hermione bristled at the nickname.

"Excellent. Quite excellent," Lockhart beamed. "Take ten points to Slytherin. And so, on to business. It is my job to arm you–" He stopped when he saw that Hermione's hand was still in the air. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Professor, wouldn't it be more useful to quiz us on actual defence?" she asked.

Lockhart didn't skip a beat. "Actual defence, my dear?"

"If you don't mind, the quiz was a bit, uh, off topic," Hermione ventured.

"Oh, yes. You are quite right. But I intended it that way," Lockhart grinned. "I was personally contacted by the great Albus Dumbledore," Malfoy coughed, "to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts. I will indeed teach defence, if that is your worry, Miss Granger, but thought it prudent to build a relationship with my students. How can you all trust me, though you have heard about me for all your lives, if you do not really know me? And how can I teach you to defend yourselves if you do not trust me?" he beamed at her.

Hermione paused for a moment, internalizing. "But, Professor Lockhart, I don't think knowing your favorite color builds trust."

"No?" he asked, rather amused.

"You are a teacher; we should trust you because the headmaster and the board have hired you. And if we don't, you can earn our trust by teaching effectively," she went on.

"Yes, well, I was about to get to that."

Hermione couldn't let it go. "But you see how this quiz might have actually hurt you?"

"No, not really," Lockhart responded, reaching down to pull up a covered cage and set it on his desk.

"You could have quizzed us on how you defeated the monsters. Like the werewolf. What kind of charm did you use? Why was it effective? Knowing your secret ambitions won't save us if we are faced with a dark creature."

Lockhart walked slowly to Hermione's desk, still smiling amiably. "Have you ever seen a werewolf, Miss Granger?"

"No, sir."

"So you haven't seen one transform."

"No, sir."

"Nasty business," he said cheerily. "Every cell in your body forced to change its identity. You grow fur, claws, fangs, where none of those things should exist. Once fully transformed, the wolf is incredibly hard to bring down, even with magic." Hermione began to wilt under his smiling face. "The Homorphus spell forces the wolf to suddenly revert back to man, near instantly. Torture is what it is. The natural change is painful. The artificial shift - ripping the mind of the wolf back into civilized thought - can leave… scars. The pain is unbearable, I've been told. Now, why would I teach children a spell that could traumatize them and, if used improperly, possibly kill someone?" Lockhart was no longer smiling. "Knowing my secret ambitions will help you against a werewolf as much as a spell that you cannot hope to master until your are N.E.W.T. students."

"But what if we're attacked by one?" Hermione squeaked.

"How old are you?"

"Almost thirteen…"

"If you are attacked by a werewolf at almost thirteen, or fourteen, or fifteen, while you are within the ancient fortress of Hogwarts Castle, I will personally avenge your certain death. Until that time," Lockhart spun on his heel and walked back to his desk, "Pixies!" He whipped the covering off the cage to reveal the tiny blue bodies of raging Cornish pixies.

Pansy had held in laughter until now. "Her Muddiness looks like she was just kissed by a dementor."

Malfoy's cronies joined her hooting.

When Defence was over, Hermione hurried out of the classroom. She did not like Lockhart. He was mean. He was arrogant. He didn't know anything about defence. No, Hermione did not like him. Not one bit.

 _Pixies_. Hermione seriously doubted she would ever need to defend herself from pixies. She had hoped that after Quirrell disappeared they would get a competent Defence teacher. Obviously, she was mistaken.

Hermione wasn't going to learn much from him. Dumbledore didn't become the greatest wizard of the century by sitting in class listening to a clown. No, Hermione needed something more. If the teacher wasn't going to educate her, she would have to begin some sort of self-study. Hermione had already planned for something on the side, but it was apparent from the first class that a significant program was needed.

She descended the stairs to the dungeons on the way to her next class: Potions.

If Hermione was going to be teaching herself new spells, she needed a place to practice. Ideally, she could do them in the privacy of her own room. In reality, her room was not that private. Hermione had no doubt that Pansy would do something to interrupt her, or Hermione would find a way to blow something up.

She could find a deserted hallway, but magic was 'not allowed' in the hallway. That never stopped anyone, though Filch would find her out fairly quickly and give severe punishment. It did not sound very pleasant.

The grounds were an option. There were plenty of open spaces that no one frequented, but they were subject to inclement weather. Fall and winter and spring would provide ample amounts of that. At best, Hermione would have a month or so of ideal weather before the rains, and a couple month in the spring, though that was optimistic.

Potions was muggy, as always. Hermione sat at the front table and took out her textbook. The class filled in behind her. Millicent set her bag down on Hermione's desk. With a furtive glance behind her, Hermione confirmed that there were no more seats left. As always, Hermione was the last choice. That was fine with her. At least Millicent was civil. Civil enough to not say anything to her.

Professor Snape swept to the front of the class with his effortless glide, silencing the room. He gripped the podium, staring back at them. "If it were up to me," he began in his slow, cold voice, "I would have failed half of you last year, with the rest soon to follow." The professor glared at them, letting his disapproval sink in. "As it is," he continued slowly, "the headmaster insists that I keep you petulant preteens as my pupils until I can fail your O.W.L.s." His black eyes fixed upon the Gryffindor section. "I will not abide arrogance, disorder, or incompetence." Longbottom whimpered. "The potions are more complex, penalties for misbehavior are more severe."

Professor Snape waved his wand at the blackboard and a procedure began writing itself. "We shall start with review. Open to page five in _Drafts and Potions_ and begin preparing the Cure for Boils."

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

" _Protego!_ "

Hermione had faced the embarrassment of Lockhart's class in the way she faced every humiliation: she buried herself in her studies. Every free period was spent in the library. Some evenings, once her homework was done, she sneaked off to an abandoned classroom and began practicing the Shielding Charm. The classroom in the dungeons had been the best location for her self-training. The only class nearby was Potions, and that was not a class students liked to loiter around. There was minimal chance of being disturbed and was only a minute's walk from the Slytherin dormitories.

The book wasn't much help after the initial reading. It said that the shield was nearly invisible so she couldn't really tell if it was working. Every time she incanted it, she felt a surge of energy in her arm, and then small sparks spluttered out of her wand tip. The book delved into the other techniques or deflecting and blocking, assuming that the reader had already mastered conjuring the simple shield. All it said was that you could feel well-executed charm in your arm and you might see a distortion in front of you. The shield was only fully visible for split seconds when under fire.

" _Protego_!"

The wall in front of her appeared to shimmer. Hermione felt a tingle of warmth creep up her arm. She held the shield as long as she could. After a minute her arm began sweating and shaking. With a sigh, she let the spell slip away.

A glance at the clock told her that Charms Club started in five minutes. Hermione had debated attending the club. There were only a few times the year before when she felt it was constructive. And the damn Weasleys loved to haunt it. Spending an extra hour on the Shielding Charm might be a better use of her time.

But it _was_ a charm. Professor Flitwick could help her. So Hermione packed her books up in her bag and peeked out the door. The hall was clear so she started off.

Dwindling sunlight still lit the halls, though most were empty. Most of the other students would probably be enjoying the last bright evenings on the ground. The Ravenclaw were probably in the library already. Not that Hermione could judge. That was on her list, too.

The Charms classroom was populated with many of the same faces as last year. Hermione recognized some, but hadn't managed, or cared, to learn the names. She found an empty table, dropped her bag on the floor and took her seat.

Standing at the front of the class was a blonde Ravenclaw Hermione recognized as the club president, Miss Clearwater. Penelope, if she remembered correctly. She was conversing lightly with the tall, redheaded boy whose uniform was perfectly groomed. _Weasley_ , she cursed. He seemed enthralled by the Ravenclaw, so enthralled that he didn't notice his twin brothers as they literally waltzed into the classroom.

The twins stumbled to a stop halfway across the room. They slipped in behind the elder Weasley, who was talking with the girl, and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Merlin!" Percy Weasley exclaimed, jumping away from his brothers. "What are you two doing here?"

"We could ask you the same thing," one of the twins replied.

"Never seen you here before," the other continued.

"If we had, you would have seen us, too."

"So, what are you doing here?"

The elder Weasley puffed out his chest. " _I_ am a prefect _and_ I have an O.W.L. in charms."

"So you don't need to be here," the twins chorused.

"I thought I could lend my expertise. Besides, if I wish to become Head Boy, I better expand my activities. Wouldn't want to give the Headmaster a reason not to, you see."

The twins looked at each other. "You know what, George?"

"I know what, Fred."

"This might be fun."

"Exciting."

"Exhilarating."

"Excruciatingly amusing."

Percy coughed loudly. "If you would please take your seats?"

"Tut, tut. Perce," one twin wagged his finger. "We only listen to Miss Clearwater."

"Penelope the Pretty," the other chimed in. "Though I don't suppose you need reminding, brother of mine!" The elder Weasley began to redden in the face.

"The Beautiful Braud!"

"The Ravishing Ravenclaw!"

"The Queen of Charms herself!"

Percy's cheeks were now rosy. "That is quite enough."

"President Presiding over our Precious Parliament!"

"What say you, Oh Most Prudent Penelope?"

The girl in question, who had tried quietly to slip away from the family feud, was now the mirror of Percy, red cheeks and an awkward look upon her face. "Erm…" she began. "We should get started."

"THE LADY HATH SPOKEN!" The twins cried. "EVERYONE TO THEIR SEATS." If anyone hadn't been paying attention, they were now. The twins skipped to their seats, joining up with Lee Jordan.

Hermione was sitting alone, but saw a small girl with a blue tie and a mane of white-blonde hair glide towards her. "Is anyone sitting here?" she asked in a lyrical voice, though she did not wait for an answer. She put her bag down and sat across the table from Hermione, who tried to ignore her.

"Okay, so, Professor Flitwick will be a little late, so I'll be starting the meeting," Miss Clearwater was saying. "Today we are going to work on animating objects. Simple charms can be used to make things move themselves and can be very useful in some situations. It is similar to levitation, but you don't have to guide the objects on their way. First we will start with the Dancing Feet spell, just to warm up, then move on to more refined movements. Remember, the incantation is _Tarantallegra_."

Within seconds, the Weasley twins had enchanted Professor Flitwick's desk to dance around the room, quills and parchments flying everywhere. "Fred! George! Stop that!"

"Stop, Perce?" came the reply. "The Ravishing Ravenclaw hath spoken!"

"There is no need–"

"OOOHOHOO!" A peal of laughter came from the doorway. Professor Flitwick walked in with a look of delight. "Excellent! Excellent, Misters Weasley. Truly brilliant!" Flitwick joined the desk in a jig as the twins began shooting off dancing spells at anyone they could see. A flash of green sped across Hermione's vision, and the little Ravenclaw at her table jumped up to dance.

The girl giggled. "This is quite fun."

Hermione frowned and took out her wand and a notebook. "Professor?" she called. "Profess–" The girl came twirling over and bumped into Hermione.

"Sooooorry," she called.

Hermione wrinkled her nose at her. " _Finite,_ " she jabbed at the girl, and her legs stopped moving. "Professor Flitwick?"

"Ah, Miss Granger," Flitwick skipped over to her. "Having trouble with the charm?"

"Uh, no, I haven't tried it. I was wondering–"

"Well, do go on! Do go on."

"But, Professor, I had a question…"

"Dance first!" Flitwick piped.

"I really just want to ask you a question."

"And I shall answer, but first, make your book dance!"

Hermione sighed. She picked up her wand and said, " _Tarantallegra_." Her notebook flopped around on the desk, trying to stand up.

"Hmm… Well, I'm sure it would do better with legs. Perhaps I should transfigure some?" he mused.

"Please, Professor. I have a question about the Shielding Charm?"

"The Shielding Charm?" he squeaked in surprise. "That is a fifth year charm."

"Well, I've been trying to learn it."

"Why ever would you do that?"

"I just thought that it was rather… unwise to wait until fifth year to teach simple protective spells."

"It is not that simple, though, Miss Granger. You have to be strong enough to produce the amount of magic it requires to _send back_ or _absorb_ a spell, any spell. It takes more focus than you would expect."

"I know I'm producing _something_. It's just that I am not sure how strong it is."

The Weasley twins ran across the room, followed by Jordan, charming everyone in their way to dance. Every time they hit Percy, he would counter it, shout that he was going to punish them, and then get hit again. Soon, the trio began turning on themselves, turning the classroom into a firefight of dancing charms.

"The only certain way to determine that would be to shield yourself from a spell."

The trio of troublemakers had turned to trying to get the whole room dancing at the same time, with Percy chasing after them trying to counter each charm. Lee Jordan, having spotted Flitwick and Hermione in a state of non-jubilation, galloped over. " _Tarantallegra_!" he charmed Flitwick, who didn't seem to mind, then turned to Hermione.

She didn't hear the word he was saying, but grabbed her wand and jabbed it at him, " _Protego_!" A flash of green filled Hermione's vision and she heard a loud bang followed by the sound of Jordan tumbling over a desk.

The room quieted down, then Jordan leaped out from behind the desk, his legs jiving. "Abort! Abort!" he chortled. "The wee snake's got fangs! Run away!" He rejoined the twins on their rampage.

"It seems," Flitwick said, his dance slowly edging him away from Hermione, "That your shield is quite strong, Miss Granger. More dance, now!"

Hermione felt a mix of pride and accomplishment, and then disappointment when she saw her Ravenclaw desk-mate shoot herself with the dancing charm.

* * *

 **Does Hermione learn spells quickly? Sure. But she's not going godlike on anyone anytime soon.**

 **Anyone wonder what the Sorting Hat said to Hermione to get her into the pit of vipers?**


	4. Not Just Magic

**Disclaimer: Train dialogue and blocking for the trio is quoted/paraphrased from HP:PS.**

* * *

 **Chapter IV**

 **Not Just Magic**

 **September 1991**

Walking through a wall in the middle of a busy King's Cross Station was a fascinating experience. Hermione wanted to do it again to pinpoint the moment the world changed, but the Hogwarts Express would leave without her. It just would not do to miss her ride to school. Magic awaited her.

 _Magic_.

Hermione dragged her trunk through the train while trying to avoid trampling by the older students. She passed several full compartments until she spotted a friendly face. Two boys from the muggle-born orientation had taken up residence in a compartment with several others, but there was an empty seat.

Hermione knocked on the door. "Excuse me, Dean? Mind if I join you?"

Dean Thomas looked up with a smile. "Hey, Hermione. Come on in."

She pulled her trunk into the room, and with the help of the tall, dark skinned boy, heaved it into the overhead compartment. Terry Boot, the other muggle-born, sat down across from her and Hermione looked around at the other occupants.

Two identical Indian girls sat on Hermione's side, one talking incessantly with a blonde girl, the other looking somewhat more uncomfortable in her new surroundings. On the other side sat Dean, Terry, and a pudgy boy being talked at by a spritely redhead girl.

"Hey, everyone!" Dean called. "This is Hermione. Hermione, you know Terry, that's Neville, then Susan, Lavender, Pavarti and Padma."

"Hi!" said the blonde girl. Neville waved shyly.

"Anyway, Neville," the redhead girl, Susan, was saying. "Auntie would never let me hear the end of it if I didn't come by to say hello."

Neville nodded again, uncomfortable from the attention. "Nice to see you," he murmured, clutching something in his lap. Hermione spotted movement between his hands, and then a small, brown toad jumped out. Neville tried to grab for it, but tripped on Susan's trunk instead and tumbled to the floor. The toad made to sneak out the door, but Dean dove and trapped the animal.

"I gotcha, mate," he said cheerfully, wrangling the wantaway pet back to Neville, who muttered a "Thank you" red-faced.

Susan took up her trunk and exited the compartment. Everyone was quiet except for Lavender, who spewed excitedly about some magazine to Pavarti, who looked equally as excited. _Try to make some friends_ , her father's voice floated through her head. After a moment's hesitation, Hermione drew upon her recently acquired knowledge of Hogwarts, gleaned from her quick skims of _Hogwarts, A History_. "So, we're all first years?" she managed. There were nods all around. "Which house do all of you want?" Shrugs were all she got from Dean and Terry.

"Gran says she expects me to be sorted into Gryffindor," Neville said in a half-whisper. "Mum and dad were in Gryffindor."

"Gryffindor," Pavarti said with confidence, and Lavender agreed.

"I'd like Ravenclaw," Padma said with slightly less gusto.

Hermione tried to diversify the conversation. "I suppose Hufflepuff wouldn't be too bad. _Hogwarts, A History_ made them sound like good people."

Dean nodded at that. "Yea, I read a bit on them. I wouldn't be too disappointed if I made Hufflepuff."

"Slytherin might be interesting, too," Hermione mentioned. "A lot of great wizards have come from Slytherin."

Six pairs of eyes stared at her. Dead silence.

"What?"

Lavender leaned over to her, a look of dread in her eyes. "You don't want Slytherin. It's evil."

Neville nodded vigorously. "Slytherin breeds dark wizards."

Hermione frowned. "How can a quarter of Hogwarts turn out evil?"

"Oh, not all of them," Pavarti said. "The rest are just followers and bullies."

"Oh…" Hermione echoed. She knew ambition could lead to a grey area in morals, but she did not think it was grounds to hate an entire house. "So this one moment during sorting marks them as bad people? At age eleven?"

"Salazar Slytherin was evil," Pavarti said.

"He left the school when the other founders wouldn't exclude muggle-borns," Lavender agreed.

"He who must not be named was a Slytherin," Pavarti continued. "Every convicted death-eater was a Slytherin."

Hermione chewed her lip. "What's a death-eater?"

"They followed he who must not be named. His assassins."

"Who?"

"You know who…"

"No, I don't," Hermione said.

"No, You-Know-Who," Padma explained. "We don't say his name."

"You-Know-Who…?" Hermione tried thinking back to the history book. She was starting to regret prioritizing her text books over a general education in the context of wizard society. Obviously, it wouldn't be so easy to fit in. There was common knowledge that was simply flying over her head.

"You know, the _war_?" Lavender prodded.

 _Modern Magical History_ had said something about a war. Fairly recently, too. Some mysterious dark wizard out to take over the world. _So melodramatic_. He had a French name, though no one would say it. Defeated by an infant, if Hermione recalled correctly. It _was_ only a light reading, after all. Nothing substantial, or Hermione could quote the entire timeline.

"He was the guy defeated by Potter… right? The baby?" said Hermione, thinking of how absurd it sounded for the most feared wizard ever to be killed by a one year old boy.

"That's the one."

"October 31, 1981?" Dates were easy, once you knew them. "Didn't he kill Potter's parents? But he couldn't kill Potter."

"Yeah," Padma whispered. "Harry survived the killing curse…"

"Anyway," Pavarti said, "his followers, Death Eaters, were all Slytherin."

"There was… Rosier. He was killed by aurors."

"Dolohov, in Azkaban."

"All the Lestranges. The two brothers and Bellatrix Black. Insane, that one."

Neville twitched.

"All from Slytherin."

"That house is cursed."

"Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater."

"He was let off though."

"Death Eater."

"Imperius."

Hermione was skeptical. Six possible examples, out of the supposed army this dark wizard had. Not a great showing. But she could see there would be no debate here, so she changed the subject quickly. "Who is going to try out for the house Quidditch team?"

"Yeah, I might," Dean saved her. "I've played football for forever. Shouldn't be much different."

"Except for the flying," Hermione quipped.

"There's that," Dean laughed.

"Quidditch is so fun to watch," Lavender joined in, the Patils nodding along too.

Neville shifted in his seat. "It would be great… but Gran doesn't think I should. Too dangerous."

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," Hermione snapped, but stopped because she saw the redhead boy with his wand out and pointed at a rat on his lap.

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," the boy said. He had a smudge of dirt on his nose.

"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then." Her first real look at magic. Well, magic she could probably do. McGonagall had said she wasn't allowed to practice magic outside school. Hermione had protested, obviously, but McGonagall had also said that infractions could lead to expulsion. Hogwarts was the only school in Britain. Expulsion was not an option.

"Uh, alright. _Sunshine daisies, bottom mellow, turn this stupid fat rat yellow,_ " he waved his wand, but nothing happened.

A wonderful introduction to magic. Though perhaps an opportunity to impress a fellow student? "Hmm... Are you sure that is a real spell? Not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells, but they've all worked for me. Of course, I've read through all my course books. I am Hermione Granger, by the way. Who are you?"

The redhead turned to look at the other boy, a dark haired and thin thing. "I'm Ron Weasley," the redhead said.

"Harry Potter," the other boy said.

"Are you really?" Hermione exclaimed. 1981? He was about one, one and a half? Simple math. 1991 would be the year he started school. It was lucky she got to know him before the crowds. More genuine, that way. More chance he would connect with her. Less chance someone could mess things up. Friends with the famous Harry Potter... maybe Hogwarts wouldn't be all that intimidating after all. "I've learned about you. You are in no less than three books, you know." And besides, she had questions to ask. Everyone knew Harry Potter. Hermione didn't. That was a problem.

"Am I?" he said, blushing slightly.

"Goodness, didn't you know? I'd found out everything I could if it were me," she commented, but saw that Harry was getting uncomfortable. Perhaps not the best time for an inquiry? Friends first, information second. Back to the small talk. "What house do you think you will get? I've asked around. Most people think Gryffindor would be best. Ravenclaw doesn't seem that bad, either." Neither boy responded, so she took the hint, though was more than slightly disappointed. There was always later. "Well, we'd better go look for Neville's toad. And you should get into your school robes. I expect we will be arriving shortly."

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

"What _has_ been going on?" Hermione entered the boys' compartment. Candy was strewn across the floor and Ron was dangling his rat by the tail.

"I think he's been knocked out." Ron said to Harry. "No, I don't believe it. He's gone back to sleep," he shook his head. "So you've met Malfoy before? I've heard of his family. They were some of the first to come back to _our_ side after You-know-who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn't believe it. Says Malfoy's father didn't need a reason to go over to the dark side." Ron turned back to Hermione. "Can we help you with something?" he spat.

Hermione wrinkled her nose at the unpleasant boy. "You'd better hurry up and put your robes on. I've just been up to the front to speak with the conductor. We're nearly there. You haven't been fighting, have you? You'll be in trouble before we even get there."

"Scabbers has been fighting, not us," Weasley corrected. "Would you mind _leaving_ while we change?"

"Alright," Hermione knew that tone. "I'm only in here because people are behaving childishly in the halls, running up and down with no care for anything." She stood, but couldn't resist a parting shot. "Oh, and you've got _dirt_ on your nose, by the way. Did you know?" She turned on her heels and marched out.

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

"Granger, Hermione," Professor McGonagall called. Hermione pushed her way out of the crowd of first years and stepped up to the stool. McGonagall dropped the ratty, old hat on her head. It slid down her face and the world went black.

 _Mmm…_ a voice echoed around her head. _Interesting._

Hermione recoiled slightly. _It's just magic,_ she said to calm herself.

 _Magic, yes. Just? Dear me, no. I am a bit offended._ The voice said again. Hermione yelped. _I am a part of the ancient traditions of Hogwarts._ Just _magic doesn't do me_ just _ice_.

Hermione gulped. _Sorry, Mister Hat, sir._

 _Mmm… Manners. I like it. Now, where to put you?_ The hat mused. _A diligent worker. Never leave a task unfinished. A certain sense of justice, too. You might work in Hufflepuff._

 _Susan is in Hufflepuff_. Hermione though back to the train. She was friendly. Didn't seem to mind Neville, poor kid. _And Justin_.

 _However, you do not possess a faith in others needed to work as part of a team. Nor the desire to. A shame…_ The hat talked over her. _You do have an insatiable hunger for knowledge, yes. A Ravenclaw quality for sure…_

 _That's it?_ Hermione asked. _A Ravenclaw?_ At least she would know Terry. Not that well, as he didn't talk much. There was always Dean, though. He could be sorted into her house.

 _Perhaps…_ the hat mused, his own thoughts swirling around in Hermione's head, though just out of reach _. But would you be wasted there?_ _There are many threads in your head, the question is… which one to follow?_

 _I don't understand_. Hermione said.

 _A decent Gryffindor you would make. There is some bravery, I see. A thirst for glory. Oh, yes…Yes, very Gryffindor. You want people_ _to know what you've done. To prove yourself... you need people to know that you are right… Hold on, that's Ravenclaw… But why do you want knowledge… Ravenclaw? No, probably not. But let's not rule it out. Difficult, to be sure. I see a lot of Godric in you, though Rowena might say she has a like mind._

 _So, Gryffindor?_ Hermione was a bit confused, and she didn't quite like where the hat was going. Lavender went to Gryffindor, and Hermione wasn't too sure she wanted to be around _that_ girl. A bit dramatic for Hermione's tastes.

 _Let us not be hasty. There are four houses, and many sides of you to consider._

Hermione chewed the name over in her mouth. _Slytherin._

The hat chuckled. _Heard about Salazar's cohort, have we? Nothing but good things, I hope?_

 _Not really._

 _Let's have it._

 _Everyone on the train says Slytherin breeds dark wizards._

 _Mmm…_

 _That they are all evil._

 _A bit crude…_

 _That I shouldn't get involved with them._

 _I wouldn't say that, no. You'd do well there. You are clever, ambitious... a desire to make yourself better... Salazar would be pleased to have you._

 _But… are they right? Slytherin makes dark wizards?_

The hat took a moment to mull the question over.

 _Slytherin can, yes._

 _And they are all evil?_

 _Evil is a quality people see in others. If it is really there... is hard to say._

 _But if Slytherin makes dark wizards–_

 _Slytherin makes_ wizards _. Slytherin is_ known _to make dark wizards. The house does not corrupt its occupants. The people drawn to Slytherin are the ambitious, the power-hungry, the vengeful; these characteristics can very well mix to create a dark wizard - though, and I must stress this, a dark wizard does not necessarily make an evil wizard, if such a wizard even exists at all. Slytherin also attracts the driven, the perfectionists, the clever and resourceful. There are different types of Slytherins, as with all houses. A Slytherin can grow up to terrorize his peers. But she can also grow up to lead her peers to a better future. The underlying connection is dedication to one's goals, whatever such goals are. Slytherin teaches wizards the tools they need to succeed and it is up to each individual the path they take._

 _T_ _his brings us to the end of our little conference. There are other children to sort... I must ask you, what do_ you _want?_

 _I don't know which house I want._

 _That is not the question, Hermione Granger._ She shivered at her own name. The hat's voice was cold within her mind. _The question is: what do you_ want _?_ _What is your greatest desire? Who do you want to be? Are you willing to be part of something greater than yourself? Do you want to prove to everybody that you are right? Is it enough to be admired for your actions alone, or do you_ need _to succeed above all else? Tell me, Hermione. I know where you will thrive, where you will grow, where you can achieve all that you are capable of, but I want you to choose for yourself._

Hermione sat still for an instant, and then answered. _I want to be the best._

 _A simple answer; I had hoped for something... more. I would quite enjoy it if you visited in a few years, I'm sure we will have much to discuss. Mea culpa; Thy mercy, lord, I beg for all my sins. Godric will curse me for this._

"Slytherin!" the hat bellowed aloud. A smattering of applause filled the air, mostly from the green-trimmed robes of Slytherin table. Many students had apparently dozed off while the hat was thinking. _Just remember that steel requires fire to temper._ She returned the hat to Professor McGonagall, who was wearing an odd face that made Hermione feel slightly melancholy. She had read that Gryffindor and Slytherin had a rivalry, of sorts. More so than the other houses.

Next, she scanned the high table. Headmaster Dumbledore was clapping politely, head tilted and a carefree smile, but his eyes were locked on Hermione. Further down the table, a man with black hair, black eyes and black robes brought his hands together slowly, his eyes similarly locked on Hermione. The rest of the staff finished their applause and looked expectantly at the next sorting.

She spared a glance at the first years waiting in the middle of the hall. Harry half-clapped for her, but most of the others were giving wary glances. Weasley flat-out stared her down.

Hermione made her way quickly to the end of Slytherin table and took up her spot with the other first years.

"I'm Tracey," the blond girl next to her said.

"Hermione."

The rather large girl across the table stuck out a hand. "Millicent Bullstrode," the girl greeted her.

"Nice to meet you," Hermione said as they shook. The round boy across from her didn't say anything. He just stared at his empty plate with a sad expression. Another large ball of a boy sat next to him and was likewise silent. Hermione looked down the table at the older students. Half of them were sizing up the newly arrived Slytherins; the other half couldn't be bothered.

"Excuse me?" a clear voice said behind her. "Do you mind moving over?" A slender girl with dark brown hair was standing over them, looking at Hermione. The newest Slytherin. In the back of her mind, Hermione recalled hearing "Greengrass, Daphne".

"Sure," Hermione acquiesced. "You're Daphne, right?"

"Daphne Greengrass," the girl nodded, then took the seat between Tracey and Hermione. Soon, a pale boy with shockingly white-blond hair sauntered up and slipped down between Gorilla Number One and Two, right across from Hermione. Malfoy, his name was.

"Crabbe, Goyle," he greeted the apes, and then turned to the other recruits in turn before settling on Daphne. "Miss Greengrass. Fancy meeting you here." His voice was diplomatic, but something akin to a smirk trying to surface on his face.

"Quite," Daphne responded dryly. "It feels like only yesterday you were shouting at Madam Malkin to work faster."

"Well, if you want Malfoy gold, you better work quickly," he said smugly. "I recall you weren't too pleased with the speed, either."

"Some of us have the decency to degrade the masses in the comfort of our own homes," Daphne sniffed and turned back to Tracey.

"Where's the fun in that?" Malfoy scoffed. "Oi, Goyle, shove over," he ordered the boy to his left. "This right here," he motioned to the stringy boy walking over to the table, "This here is a Nott. He is better than you."

"Draco," the boy greeted, taking his seat.

Malfoy slapped him on the back and looked across the table, seeming to notice Hermione for the first time. "Who're you?" he asked.

"I'm Hermione Granger," she said with false confidence. A good impression was important, no more so than with the alpha wolf. Malfoy was definitely that. She reached out her hand across the table.

Malfoy studied her hand. "You have family in France, Granger?"

Hermione blinked. Did she? It was quite possible. She seemed to remember a distant cousin marrying a French national. "I believe I do," she answered.

Malfoy regarded her coolly, a look in his eyes that Hermione recognized as calculating a problem. After a moment, he took her hand. "Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. But I'm sure you've heard of me."

"Of course." That seemed to be the right answer. He nodded and turned to say something to Nott when a dark haired girl flopped down on Hermione's right side.

"It was _dreadful_ being up there for so long, with all those dirty people," she gushed. "I mean, _really_!" Malfoy laughed his agreement, and the gorillas followed suit. Nott gave a little nod. " _Weasley_ was standing a yard away from me!"

There was a round of disgusted noises.

"I saw him on the train," Hermione said, and every head turned to her. She had seen her opportunity to raise her standing with her new housemates. "He tried a spell to turn his rat yellow. Couldn't even do it properly," Malfoy grinned, Pansy snickered. "He had dirt on his nose, too," She continued. "Didn't even seem to notice." She might've felt bad, but he was rude on the train, and the way he was glaring at her after her sorting... Hermione didn't care much for it at all.

Malfoy snorted. "Of course not. The Weasleys probably can't afford to do laundry. He wouldn't know the difference between a hand-me-down and a dirty sock." The table cracked up. "Pansy, you better take a long shower tonight to get the stench off."

The new girl cackled. "Hey," she said to Hermione, "Swap me." She began to push into Hermione, leaving her no choice but to swap seats. A social experiment, then. There was a clear hierarchy. Hermione had gained some credit, but she was obviously on the lower end. Climbing the ladder would be an interesting experience.

A silence spread across the Great Hall: Harry Potter's name was called. After a lengthy conversation with the hat, he was sent off to Gryffindor with a massive cheer from the red-clad table.

Malfoy continued to make crude jokes to Pansy's continued hysterical laughed until the sorting was finished. Blaise Zabini strolled up to the table, being the last first year and Slytherin. "Draco," he nodded, "Theo. Millicent. Pansy. Miss Greengrass." He took his seat at the end of the table, but did not look happy about it.

Dumbledore warned of horrible death on the third floor, said three random words, and then the feast began. Hermione had never wanted for food, but this was incredible.

* * *

 **A ladder is hard to climb when there are no rungs at the bottom.**

 **The hat's dialogue went through a few rewrites. I'm still not completely sold. Thoughts?**

 **Only just prior to posting did I remember that 'Goyle' comes _before_ 'Granger' and 'Greengrass'. Somehow I originally had him show up between Daphne and Hermione.**

 **Did someone say 'Slytherin'...?**


	5. The Chamber Opened

**Disclaimer: Filch & Message quoted/paraphrased from HP:CS**

 **A/N: Work on third year hit a bit of a wall - mostly the creative dampener of having to rewrite canon events through a different perspective - so the updates slowed. It should be all better now. At the very least there will be a new chapter every Friday from now on, and maybe more depending on how quickly year three is written.**

* * *

 **Chapter V**

 **The Chamber Opened**

After a few days, she decided to move on to other spells.

 _The_ _ **Full Body-Bind Curse**_ _(_ Petrificus Totalus) _remains a staple of wizarding society, used primarily by law enforcement agents to arrest criminals, healers to keep patients still, and every-day wizards interceding in confrontations. Though labeled as a_ _ **curse**_ _, the Full Body-Bind is a relatively harmless spell which only incapacitate the target for a limited time. A successful Full Body-Bind will effectively end a duel as the opponent will not be able to respond to any actions post-curse._

 _Though similar to the_ _ **Freezing Charm**_ _, there are a few key differences. The target of a Full Body-Bind curse will still be able to use all of their senses, but will be restrained from movement and interactions. This means that the cursed will not be able to communicate in any way. The Freezing Charm immobilizes the target, but allows for communication. The Freezing Charm also does not alter the body shape of its target, as the Full Body-Bind will force the target into a straight posture with legs and arms snapped together._

Now Hermione needed test subjects, and somehow she didn't think Pansy would oblige. So it was a late September evening that she found herself walking on the grounds towards the rickety old hut near the Forbidden Forest.

Hermione knocked on the large door. When it opened, she stared up at the hairy giant who dwelt there. He peered around for a second before looking down with surprise.

"Er, hello, there," he said in a gruff voice.

"Good evening, Mister Hagrid," Hermione said politely.

"What can I do fer ye, miss?" he replied, scratching his chin under his thick beard.

"Well, sir," Hermione began, "I was wondering if you would allow me to practice a few spells on your animals…"

Hagrid grunted. "Practice a few spells? On me animals?" he rubbed his head, thinking. "No, no, no. I don' think so. They havn' done a thing. Wouldn' be right."

"Oh, no, sir. Nothing to hurt them or anything," Hermione pleaded. "They'd only be frozen for a minute or two. Nothing permanent. I just wanted to see if I can do it correctly."

"Er, I don' know." Hagrid leaned out of the door way to peer over at his chicken coop and pig pen. "Can' ye try it on yer friends? If it don' hurt the animals, couldn' hurt a couple students, now would it?"

"Oh…" Hermione felt herself flush and turned away from his gaze. "I… I guess I could look for someone…" Dejected, she turned away and stumbled down the steps from the hut.

"Wait," Hagrid called behind her. "Whadya say yer name was?"

She looked back. The giant man was peering at her with a contemplative look. "Hermione Granger."

He began stroking his beard again. "Ye just want to try a few spells, then, Miss Granger?"

Hermione nodded.

"Well, nothin' permanent, then. And back to the castle before dark."

"Really?" Hermione smiled.

Hagrid smiled and nodded back. "Suppose if it won' do no harm."

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

" _Immobulus_." The chicken froze in place and clucked in confusion. " _Petrificus totalus_." A rooster next to the frozen chicken went rigid and fell. Other chickens began crowding around, poking at the two test subjects.

Hermione found these spells to be much easier to master, perhaps because of the visual effect, or perhaps because they were actually intended to be learned at her age. Either way, she performed them regularly and without error. The chickens were no match for her.

A squeak behind her made Hermione turn. A little redhead girl stood at the edge of the pumpkin patch, clutching her books to her chest and staring in horror at Hermione. _Weasley_ , the familiar curse leapt into her mind. "What are you doing here?"

"What are _you_ doing here?" the girl parroted rather determinedly.

Hermione wrinkled her nose at the intruder. "I asked first."

"I'm…" the little Weasley rubbed her little black book unconsciously. "I'm writing."

"Writing?" If Hermione had the facial muscle control to raise one eyebrow, she would.

"Poetry."

"You write poetry?" she snorted.

"What are _you_ doing here?" the girl asked again.

"I'm practicing spells. Now go away." Hermione turned back to her chickens, but kept her ears open for sounds of the weasel scurrying away.

But they didn't come. "Does Hagrid know you are messing with his chickens?"

"I asked him."

"And he said yes?"

"Yes, he said yes, now get out of here." Hermione was tired of the interrogation, but the girl did not leave. Instead, she sat down, took out a quill, and began writing in her journal.

Hermione waited for a moment, then turned back to the chickens. Her two test subjects had recovered and were currently trying to hide. The others were less wary and Hermione quickly selected a few more.

With the sun setting, half a dozen chickens frozen or laying on the ground, Hermione looked back at the Weasley. She hadn't moved, but was scribbling furiously in her book every few moments. For a minute, Hermione considered freezing her in place so she would miss curfew. It would be simple enough.

But it wasn't worth the risk. She was a Weasley, after all. Dumbledore would surely let her off easy. And then there was the issue of the unprovoked assault on a fellow student. Hagrid would probably testify against her, though she doubted the legitimacy of any evidence he would present. He didn't seem to have much between the ears. There were no witnesses, so Hermione could deny any accusation, but in the end, it would be a perfect little Weasley lion versus poor, muggle-born snake Hermione. No one would believe her.

Hermione decided to pack up and head back to the dormitories. Maybe grab some dinner on the way, if any was left. Weasley remained behind. Whether she didn't notice the time or didn't want to walk back with Hermione, she couldn't tell. Hermione didn't much care, either. Maybe she would miss curfew on her own.

Hermione could dream.

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

October passed quickly. Class work began to ramp up, but Hermione made time for her journeys to Hagrid's cabin, or rather, his chicken coop. She didn't really need the practice, but the fresh air and time alone, truly alone – by choice – was welcome.

By Halloween, Hermione decided the year was going to be a success. A joker as a teacher, Weasleys running rampant in the castle and Malfoy as seeker weren't going to get her down. Though Malfoy's mouth kept running and running. Every class, every meal, he tried to slip it in. This night was no different. Hermione found her spot, in limbo between her year and the first years, as no one else would take her. She usually sat next to Millicent and tried kept out of conversation.

"Potter got a free pass last year," Malfoy was saying. "This year will be different. Next week he will be laying in the hospital wing while we celebrate victory." There were murmurs of approval.

"Malfoy!" came a call from down the table, the gruff voice of Marcus Flint, Quidditch captain. "You better back up all your talk with action."

"Oh, better brooms, better breeding, it's safe to say the Quidditch Cup is ours," Malfoy laughed, Pansy hanging on his arm laughing with him. _You've got to get better banter, though_ , Hermione thought to herself. _Brooms and breeding..._

"Shame about his mudblood mother. A Potter has the potential to be _decent,_ but not with _that_ match," Pansy cooed. Hermione thought it likely that Potter's mother would have out preformed Pansy in any competition at any level. There was little that Hermione thought Pansy _could_ do, other than play the little politics game in Slytherin, and that only because Malfoy seemed to like groupies.

"He chose his side," Nott grumbled, stabbing his fork into his slice of pie. "Blood traitor, like his father. Dirty, like his mother. Always got that Weasley trailing him." Hermione couldn't disagree with the Weasley point.

"Not that we would have taken him," Malfoy injected.

Blaise Zabini snorted out his pumpkin juice.

"Something funny?" Malfoy glared.

"You'd have said no to Potter?" Zabini smirked. "Not likely."

"He brings shame to all wizards–"

"The youngest seeker in a century? The heir of a noble house? He put down the Dark Lord. I'm not saying he's pure, but hell, you'd gotta be stupid to say no to that." Zabini usually didn't say much. It was nice to see someone knock Malfoy down a peg or two. "That is… unless you know something."

"Know something?" Malfoy repeated, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Me?"

"Yeah. My mother always said the Dark Lord… went rather quickly," Zabini said slowly. "No body found, you know."

"Indeed," Malfoy's smirk widened, but he showed no intention of saying anything.

The whole of second year was quietly watching the exchange. Hermione poked Millicent softly to get her attention. "What do they mean?" she whispered. Millicent shook her head. _Later_.

"Care to share, your eminence?" Zabini prodded again.

"Share what?" Malfoy said sweetly.

"Malfoys never learn to share," Daphne simpered from down the table torchlight reflecting off her shining hair. "Last time there were two Malfoy heirs, one of them mysteriously disappeared. Isn't that right, Draco?"

"My dear lady," Malfoy leered back. "I don't know what you are talking about." They held their gaze for a moment before Pansy pulled Malfoy away.

"What do you think the score will be?" she asked.

"Slytherin will easily win by more than a hundred-fifty. Better chasers, better seeker. It will be a demolition," he replied confidently.

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE

Hermione stared up at the message, written in blood. Potter and Weasley had been found there moments earlier, standing next to the corpse of Mr. Filch's cat. "What's it mean?" Hermione asked Millicent, who was rather pale.

"It means," Malfoy piped up, "You'll be next, mudbloods."

"Next?" Hermione gulped.

"That cat didn't hang itself there, now did it?" Malfoy sneered, scanning the Gryffindors for a target. "Maybe next week it'll be you, Thomas."

"Oh, piss off, Malfoy," Dean spat. "We'll see how you like it when you're hanging from the wall!" Dean made to grab Malfoy, but was immediately shoved back by the lumbering giants Crabbe and Goyle.

"What's goin' on 'ere?" The cranky voice of Mr. Filch rang out as he pushed through the mass of students. "Make way! Make way!" The old caretaker ambled forward. "Potter! What are you…" he trailed off, his gaze drifting past Potter's shoulder. "You've… you've murdered my cat." Hermione never thought she would hear the cranky old man sound anything like he had emotions. But there it was.

"No," protested Potter.

"I'll kill you," Filch was shaking. "I'll kill you!" The old man lunged at the boy, grabbing him by his robes.

"Argus!" Dumbledore's voice echoed through the hallway. The silver haired wizard had appeared from nowhere, surveying the scene. His eyes caught the writing on the wall and lost a bit of their twinkle. "Everyone," he announced, "will proceed to their dormitories. Immediately."

* * *

 **The movies will be the first images that pop into my mind when I need a quick reference, so forgive me if I stray from book canon in a few places (like above). I do have the books on hand for the more important distinctions.**

 **The One Where Hermione Learns That Being a Dirty Snake Isn't Popular.**


	6. Snake in the Grass

**RIP Alan Rickman**

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

 **Snake in the Grass**

 **September 1991**

"First years, follow me." The Slytherin prefect Gemma Farley shouted as they exited the Great Hall. "Slytherin common room is in the dungeons," she was explaining as the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students split off from them. "The door cannot be seen until the password is spoken, so take note of its position. I expect than none of you will need my help after tonight. The new password will be posted every Monday in the common room. _DO NOT FORGET IT_ , or you will spend the night in the halls, you will lose Slytherin points, and you will be disgraced within the house."

They had been descending stairs, the large vaulted corridors turning into smaller, more compact passages. In the middle of a nondescript hallway, Farley stopped. "This is it. The Potions classroom is down the hall, to the right. Remember not to reveal the password to anyone outside Slytherin." She turned to the blank wall and said, " _Nemesis_." The stones melted away to reveal a dark passageway. Farley led them through to a large circular atrium, the middle of which was sunken into the ground and filled with different arrangements of couches, armchairs and futons, each encased in black leather and sitting upon green rugs. A central fireplace roared, as did smaller fires around the perimeter, which housed small alcoves with cushioned benches and desks, separated by a circle of pillars. Forest green flags hung from the pillars with the silver serpent of Slytherin flashing in the firelight.

"Your dormitories will be down that hall," Farley said, pointing to the far side of the common room. "Girls to the right, boys to the left. Boys, take note that if you venture down the wrong side, accident or not, a siren will sound and the wall hangings will make sure you suffer."

Behind her, Hermione heard snickering from the boys.

"Wait here. Professor Snape will speak to you, then you may settle in as you see fit. We will meet here at seven thirty tomorrow morning, I will deliver you to breakfast, your first class, and then you are on your own. You may ask older students for directions, and they may or may not help." Farley gave them a stern look, then turned to find her friends as the common room started to fill.

Malfoy, Nott and Parkinson had monopolized the nearest couch; Crabbe and Goyle were flanking it like bodyguards. Daphne and Tracey were sharing a large armchair and talking in hushed tones. Hermione looked around for a seat, but the common room was obviously not designed to seat the entire house. The nooks in the perimeter were open, but she did not expect Professor Snape to allow that, so she chose to stand next to Millicent, who similarly had not found a seat.

A ripple passed through the crowd, and the dark haired professor she had seen earlier strode to the small stairs that led up to the perimeter, a little stage for his performance, Hermione anticipated. "Silence," he said in a commanding voice, though it was not necessary. The room was paying him full attention. "Slytherin is the house of ambition. I expect to win the House Cup. The Quidditch Cup. I expect everyone one of you to exceed any OWL or NEWT tests you take. I expect to hold the best academic record in every year. Earn Slytherin points and I will assist you however I can, but it is on you to succeed. If you don't know how, then you should not be here."

He left his perch and stalked over to the first years. "I am Professor Snape," he drawled in a soft, slow, but menacing voice."Potions Master, Head of Slytherin House." He fixed them with his icy gaze. "You will find that, as befits the superior house, Slytherins will be held to… different standards… than the rest. The others may bicker and squabble, but at the end of the day," he paused for dramatic effect, "It will be three houses against one.

"Slytherin is my family. I was in this very dormitory for seven years. I've been head of house for ten. I've been Slytherin for longer than any of you have lived. Bring success to Slytherin and I will accept you as my own. If you dishonor my house I will disown you."

Snape stalked back to his stage. "I will not abide conflict between Slytherin and Slytherin beyond this room. Out there, you are family. A Gryffindor insults a Slytherin, you have their back, even if you called them the same thing the night before. I do not care. Settle your differences before you walk out that door. When tide rolls in it will be met by a single wall; a phalanx; an impregnable shield." Snape was now looking directly at Malfoy, who, to his credit, was not wilting much. "We do not turn on each other where others can see. They will know Slytherin as a monolith. A single entity. An attack on one means war with the whole. Whatever cracks form, we do not show our weakness. Leaks will not be tolerated. Understood?" The first years mumbled their acceptance. Snape gave another long look to the assembled house, and then swept out of the room.

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

The dormitory was a circular room decorated like the common room. Dark green curtains hung from five four-post beds spaced evenly around the perimeter. Hermione found her trunk already by her bed.

"This isn't even as big as my bedroom at home, and we have to _share_ it?" Pansy squawked from the other side of the room.

"It's not that bad," Tracey said while jumping onto Daphne's bed as Daphne relocated several photos from her trunk to her side table. One of them was a family of four sitting on a couch, another of two girls hugging. One was Daphne, the other a smaller version of Daphne that had to be a sister. The peculiar thing was that they were _moving_. The little girl was jumping and laughing and the older girl was trying to look composed. The real Daphne slowly sat on her bed and laid down gracefully, ignoring the bouncing Tracey.

Pansy hopped across the room to lean against the post of Daphne's bed. "Really, though. How _small_ is this room? They really expect us to _live_ here for a year?"

"Only nine months," Daphne said, unconcerned, taking a moment to inspect her nails to confirm that they were in perfect shape.

"I'm sure we can make the most of it," Tracey giggled.

Millicent wandered over from her bed to join in. "It'll be nice."

Daphne looked up and saw Hermione watching. "What do you think of the room?" she asked in a smooth voice.

Hermione shrugged. "The beds are much nicer than mine at home. A lot older, too."

Daphne was casually staring at her, and Pansy scrunched her eyebrows together. "I don't recall who your parents are, Granger," Pansy asked without asking.

"Oh, you've never met them," Hermione admitted. "They're dentists. Doctors." She received blank stares, none more blank than Daphne's, which was almost void of anything. "They're like… muggle healers? For your teeth," she guessed.

"Muggle… healers?" Pansy made a revolted face.

"Yeah…"

"Didn't you say you had family in France?" asked Millicent.

"I think so..."

"And they aren't wizards?" Tracey frowned. Hermione could only shrug. "So you're..."

"A _mudblood_?" Pansy squealed.

"A what?" Hermione had the vague sense that she was being insulted.

"A muggle-born?" Millicent asked.

Hermione nodded. "My parents are muggles."

Pansy looked like a horse, her mouth hanging open a bit, grinding imaginary oats, while trying to think of something to say. Tracey had stopped bouncing. "In Slytherin?" she asked.

"Peculiar, isn't it?" Daphne said from her reclined position, her face not changed from before. "I was wondering..."

"Is there a problem?" Hermione asked. She could feel the possibility of comradery fading quickly.

"A _mudbood_?" Pansy repeated.

"You see, all of our parents are wizards and witches," Millicent offered. "And their parents, and their parents..."

"Purebloods," Pansy spat.

"Purebloods?" Hermione puzzled. "Pure what?"

"Magic," Tracey answered, as if it were obvious.

"Someone should tell Draco," said Pansy. "He'll have to burn his hand off to get clean again."

With that, the circle of girls closed, ignoring Hermione completely.

 _Well, let's just see how good you are at magic, then._

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

Once word had spread of her muggle parents, most of Slytherin had frozen Hermione out. The small section that hadn't was worse. Pansy made her contempt clear at every opportunity. Malfoy avoided her like the plague but managed to cast a few withering glances her way, like she had tricked him into committing some grievous crime.

Potions was the first class that Slytherin shared with Gryffindor. Hermione decided to arrive early so she could speak to Harry Potter. Hermione had thought about her short interaction with Harry Potter on the Hogwarts Express and felt like, were it not for Weasley's rudeness, they might have hit it off. Harry seemed like a decent person, and, if the rumors were true, raised by muggles.

She entered the dark, muggy classroom before anyone else and set her bag down at a table at the front, and waited. Her disappointment mounted every minute until Harry showed up, seconds before class was to begin, with Weasley in tow. Hermione walked over to his table, ignoring any odd looks she got from Gryffindors and Slytherins alike.

"Hi, Harry," she greeted him.

"Er, hi," he said uncertainly.

"What do _you_ want?" Weasley looked like he just caught a whiff of something disgusting.

Hermione ignored him. "I was wondering if you would like to join my study group. I can tell that Professor Snape will only accept the best. I could help–"

"We don't want your help, Granger," Weasley interrupted.

Hermione kept her gaze to Harry. "I know that you have no past experience with potions, so I could help you keep up." Honestly, she didn't expect him to learn half as fast as her, but studying was never the plan. Harry Potter could be a valuable friend to have. She had already alienated her entire house - somehow - so hanging out with a Gryffindor shouldn't hurt her too much. The benefits outweighed the consequences.

"Keep up?" said Harry.

Weasley shook his head. "I don't trust her Harry. She's in Slytherin. They're always plotting something."

"Honestly, Weasley, you need to sort out your priorities," Hermione hissed at him. "We're all students here. Would you rather fail potions than study with a Slytherin?" She turned back to Harry, hoping to sway him.

"See? She's threatening already," Weasley gasped. "See here, Granger–"

At that moment, Professor Snape entered the classroom. "There will be silence in my classroom. A point from Gryffindor."

"But Professor–" Weasley began to protest, his cheeks burning.

"Another five points then, and be quiet."

Hermione looked to Harry, hoping to secure his participation. He held her gaze for a moment before looking away. He made his choice.

Weasley was glaring at her. " _Snake,_ " he muttered. Hermione wrinkled her nose at him and gave him a catty snarl as she returned to her table. That Professor Snape had failed to note that she was out of her seat was not lost on her, and she took pleasure in his interrogation of Potter, especially when she was able to answer every question correctly, earning a three-point haul for Slytherin. Perhaps not all was lost. Hermione's early marks were perfect, and she was already responsible for a nine-point swing from Gryffindor to Slytherin. That was all that Professor Snape had asked for.

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

"Wait, so why does it matter which direction you stir?" Terry asked, flipping through his textbook. "And how many times? Don't you just want to mix everything together?"

Hermione had found a small group of Ravenclaws who would study for potions with her. Padma Patil and Terry Boot were the only regulars, though. The other first years attended occasionally, but most were more interested in spell casting. Terry needed help shedding his muggle preconceptions, but thankfully Padma was actually interested. "It's not about mixing, per se," the Indian girl began. "You want to provide the right amount of impetus to release the magical properties…"

A group of students entering the library caught Hermione's attention. They were four Hufflepuff first years. Susan and Justin were there. Hermione hadn't had the opportunity to speak to either of them since school began. With Padma in the middle of explaining stirring protocols, Hermione got up and walked to the Hufflepuffs, who were settling down at a table of their own.

"Hi, Justin," Hermione said, "Hi, Susan."

"Oh, hey," Justin greeted her. The other Hufflepuffs sat down.

"I know we haven't talked in a while. All this is so new…"

Justin nodded. "Oh, yeah. Bizarre. But brilliant."

"I've started a potions study group." She pointed to the Ravenclaws.

"Charms," he said, holding up his textbook.

"I've been meaning to study some charms, too. If you ever need help?" Hermione offered. "You never can study enough. The more the merrier, right? You, too," she added to the three sitting down.

Justin turned to them, too. Susan was looking at Hermione with narrow eyes. The other girl was staring at her unopened book. The last, a larger blond boy, sat back in his chair, arms folded. "I think not," said Susan.

"Well, I wouldn't have taken you to be a slacker," Hermione shot back immediately.

"She said no," the blond boy said. "So shove off."

"Apparently I was wrong." Hermione looked to Justin, who awkwardly avoided her glance and sat down. "Tolerance and hard work, my ass," Hermione hissed. School was increasingly becoming a rather hostile environment.

* * *

 **The plan was to post tomorrow, but this serves as my teeny tiny tribute to Alan Rickman. He really brought Snape to life and was quite possibly the best part of the movies - at least to me.**

 **I might move up the next year one chapter and post tomorrow as it stars Snape and would be a much better tribute.**

 **(** **Does Hogwarts have a school counselor?** **)**


	7. In the Office of Severus Snape

**RIP Alan Rickman, Part 2**

* * *

 **Chapter VII**

 **In the Office of Severus Snape**

 **November 1991**

Hermione arrived early to her detention. She was disappointed in herself. She had lost her first house points, received her first detention, and become indebted to the Gryffindor golden boys. It had not been the greatest showing.

She knocked on Professor Snape's office door and it opened. She stepped inside to find a dark room, the only lights inside being a lamp on the desk and candles flickering in the corner. Professor Snape was sitting behind his desk. Hermione approached, listening to the faint scratching of quill on parchment. He did not look up but motioned for her to sit. They sat in silence for several minutes. Around the perimeter of the room were several different sized cauldrons, an odd stone basin, cabinets of potion ingredients, and stacks upon stacks of parchments. She watched the clock hung on the wall tick the seconds by until it hit exactly 8:00.

"Tell me, Miss Granger," Professor Snape murmured without looking up, "what you were doing in that bathroom."

Hermione fidgeted. He either had figured out her lie or was trying to instill some sort of lesson. "Fighting a troll, sir?" That was the truth, either way.

"Tell me, Miss Granger, what you were doing in that bathroom," he repeated while continuing to scribble on his parchment.

"Like I told Professor McGonagall, I went to fight the troll. I thought–"

"Tell me, Miss Granger," Professor Snape looked up, "do you take me for a fool?"

Black eyes stared at her from beneath greasy black hair. Hermione shook her head.

"Then stop lying to my face. Tell me what you were doing in that bathroom." His black eyes were boring holes into her soul. "Believe it or not, I know every single child in my house. I can tell when someone is missing at a meal. You were not at the feast. I am your head of house. Professors are required to report absences in first year classes to the heads of house. You missed every class yesterday after Charms. You've never missed any class before. So, tell me, Miss Granger," his voice was a low growl, " _what_ you were doing in that bathroom."

Hermione cast her eyes down and mumbled something incoherent.

"Speak up, Miss Granger."

"I was crying," she whispered.

Snape set down his quill. "You missed a day's worth of classes to _cry_ in a bathroom?" His voice was cool and incredulous.

Hermione nodded.

" _Do_ go on," he said, leaning back as if to enjoy an entertaining story.

"Nobody likes me," Hermione whimpered. "Nobody cares about me. I've spent two months here, and NOBODY TALKS TO ME," she screamed, the tears storming back to her. "NOBODY. The longest conversations I have arewhen Weasley tries to convince people I am scheming to sabotage his potions grade. Pansy is calling me _Hermuddy._ Nobody outside of Slytherin talks to me because I'm the know-it-all snake, and no one in Slytherin talks to me because I'm a _mudblood_ and they–"

"Stop," Snape slammed his hand against his desk. Hermione jumped up in her chair. "I will not abide self-pity." Snape stared at her until she could not make out his face through the tears. She heard him rummaged through a stack of papers on his desk. He passed two folders across to her. "Your marks," he said. "Perfect." Hermione already knew that. She sniffed and wiped her eyes clear. "Miss Parkinson's," he continued. "Less than." Hermione recoiled slightly. In the muggle world, a teacher would never show her another student's marks. Sure enough, Pansy was failing astronomy with a 'Poor' mark. She was barely 'Acceptable' in History of Magic. "Her highest mark, 'Exceeds' in Potions because she often partners with Mister Malfoy. You see, blood isn't everything."

"Like fame," Hermione quipped, remembering her first Potions class. Then she was suddenly afraid that she had over-stepped her place. A quick look up reassured her, as she was almost certain he was fighting back a smile. She poured over the sheets, comparing her uniform block of 'Outstanding's to Pansy's ugly combination of 'Poor's and 'Acceptable's.

"Now, let us continue with your tale. I don't believe that Miss Parkinson's loose tongue landed you in the bathroom."

"No. Weasley did," Hermione's mood suddenly plunged back into despair. "I just tried to help with a spell. Well, I was patronizing, I suppose. But I think I've earned that. And his technique was horrid, really," Snape nodded. He was not a fan of Weasley either. "I told him how to do it and he called me insufferable, and said it was no wonder I can't even make friend in my own house."

"You weren't sorted into Hufflepuff. Friends are not guaranteed," Snape commented.

"Actually, it wasn't that. He said it was no wonder everyone in my house _hated_ me. That's what got me. I realized that it wasn't that I don't have friends. I've never really had friends. I don't need friends. I realized that they actually _hate_ me, Professor. _Hate_ me. For no reason."

"Not for no reason," Snape said. "They hate you because they are supposed to be better than you."

Hermione stared at him in shock. Gryffindors always spouted on about how unfair Snape was. Was he really saying she was beneath them?

"They hate you," he continued, "Because _you_ are better than _them_. They've all know about magic for their entire lives. Malfoy has received private tutelage since he was five. You learned about magic three months ago, and have already surpassed them. They are threatened."

Hermione sniffed. Were they really? Somehow that felt like only half of it. "They'd hate me even if I weren't better than them."

"Hypotheticals," he dismissed. "Now, tell me about what happened in the bathroom."

"I was crying…"

"Not about that," Professor Snape snapped. "If I wanted to know about sniffling and sobbing, I'd ask Longbottom. _The troll_."

"Yes, sir," Hermione mumbled. "I was about to go back to my dormitory when the troll came. I screamed when I saw it, then locked the stall door."

" _'_ _Locked the stall door',_ " Professor Snape drawled.

"I know, sir," Hermione sniffled.

"Continue."

"I dove to the floor, and the troll smashed the stall. I crawled along the ground as it smashed all the others. When I got to the end, Potter and Weasley distracted it."

"Potter and Weasley devised a plan to knock out a fully grown mountain troll?"

"No, sir. Potter was about to be smashed by the troll, so I tried levitating its club. I made it miss."

"A pity," Professor Snape sneered.

"Sir!" Hermione protested. "You can't mean that." As much as she disliked Potter's friend, she didn't wish any harm on him. Not permanent, anyway.

"Sarcasm," he said dryly.

Hermione frowned. "Potter isn't that bad."

"He is an arrogant trouble-maker. He needs no defence from you, Miss Granger," growled Professor Snape.

Now Hermione understood why Malfoy got away with so much. Snape was just as biased. "I think it is unprofessional for a professor to be judging a student like that."

Her head of house fixed her with a frightening stare that sent shivers down her spine. He seemed to be building into a rage until he suddenly deflated. "And the troll fell over on its own?"

Hermione blinked at his deflection. "I dropped his club on him, sir," she admitted, leaving out Weasley's part.

She could almost see the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile. "Just like that?"

"Just like that."

He considered her coolly for a minute. "Very well. You may go now. And ten points for keeping a calm head in a crisis."

Hermione smiled. He had cancelled out her earlier punishment. "Thank you, sir," she said, standing to leave.

"For each Gryffindor you saved," he added, and Hermione beamed. She had gained Slytherin points, after all. "And remember, Miss Granger: If they hate you, you are doing something right. You were sorted into Slytherin for a reason."

She practically skipped back to the common room. " _Nike_." She said to the wall and the door opened. The common room was full, as usual after dinner, though Hermione rarely experienced it. She made her way towards the dorms with a smile.

"The mudblood returns," came a voice from behind her. "I hope Snape gave her a good smack. _Honestly,_ how can a Slytherin even _be_ rescued by a Gryffindor? Dis _gust_ ing."

Hermione kept her smile as she turned on her toes. Pansy was sneering at her from her spot on a couch next to Malfoy. The blond boy was watching the exchange with a smug look on his face. There was laughter around the room, so Hermione waited for it to die down. "In case you haven't noticed, I've defeated a mountain troll while you've been failing astronomy." There was an audible turning of heads toward Pansy, whose jaw was slightly open and a pink tinge was appearing on her cheeks. " _Honestly_ , Pansy, it's just looking at stars. I don't know _how_ you manage it. _Ast_ onishing."

Pansy made a choking sound like a dying goose. It filled Hermione's heart with glee as she turned away and marched down to her dorm.

* * *

 **There we are, a Snape-centric tribute chapter. And last of year one. Fill in the blanks with lonely!Hermione and canon events. If events aren't mentioned, just assume they happened just about the same as canon, except without Hermione.**

 **An emotional Hermione... that's not something you see every day... oh, wait, yes it is. More coming.**

 **(When you live with blood supremacists murderous threats become a lot more real)**


	8. Questions

**A/N: The Chamber plot line is now full swing and first year glimpses are over.**

* * *

 **Chapter VIII**

 **Questions**

"What does it mean, though?" Pansy asked, whispering to avoid admonishments from the prefects.

Malfoy snorted. "It means the Heir of Slytherin has returned to Hogwarts."

The convoy of Slytherin students were marched quickly away from the message; six prefects glaring at any sound of unrest. Hermione didn't know what to make of any of it. A secret Chamber being opened didn't seem like that big of a deal, though it certainly seemed like Dumbledore took it seriously. As seriously as he took anything.

And what of an Heir of Slytherin? With muggle-borns as his enemy? Was that just Malfoy's way of playing with her? Thoughts were racing through her head at an enormous rate.

Heir in what sense? A fortune held in the Chamber? A cache of knowledge? Some sort of property? Or was it an heir of his bloodline? A distant family member? Though, that would mean that there were countless generations of heirs of Slytherin coming to Hogwarts. It didn't make sense to make a big deal out a descendant of Slytherin. Sure, he was a powerful wizard. In his day. But then why not make a big deal out of the Malfoy heir? The Malfoys were a more relevant family in this millennium.

Hermione barely noticed the group enter the portal to the dormitory. None of the students retired to their rooms.

Or, perhaps, it was an heir of his legacy? What was his legacy, though? A school? This heir was a fantastic teacher? Lockhart was new at the school… A laughable idea. Blood supremacy? No, Hermione had her own theories on that. This so called 'Chamber of Secrets'? Funny. It was a Chamber _of_ secrets. Not a _secret chamber_. Its existence wasn't the secret. What it held… what did it hold? Why did it need an heir to open it?

"Who do you think it is?" Tracey asked.

"He has to be in Slytherin," Pansy said.

"Maybe not…" Daphne replied thoughtfully.

"What do you mean by that?" Nott grumbled.

"Filch thought it was Potter."

Pansy laughed. "The dolt is a squib. He knows nothing of magic."

"You think Potter is the Heir of Slytherin?" Malfoy asked incredulously. "Saint Potter?"

"Think about it," Zabini interrupted. A pair of first year twins were watching intently, and they were soon joined by others.

"The Dark Lord hunted him personally," Daphne continued.

"That means nothing," Nott said. "He also personally killed a family of goblins. Doesn't mean they were the Heir of Slytherin."

"Goblins aren't human," Daphne dismissed. "The Potters went into hiding for a reason. The Dark Lord hunted them, _for a reason_."

"Whatever that reason was, it wasn't about mummy and daddy Potter," Zabini added. "They died easily. He was aiming to kill baby Potter."

"Why would the Dark Lord hunt a baby? He had no power that threatened him. What Potter had was a legacy that could undermine his authority over the purebloods the Dark Lord commanded," Daphne said. "And let's not forget: Potter is still here. The Dark Lord is not."

The room was silent. Malfoy was sitting back in a chair with a troubled look on his face.

Harry Potter, the Heir of Slytherin? That did not sound right. But then, who was it?

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

"Miss – er –?"

"Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets?"

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

"Why so interested in the Chamber?" Malfoy called from behind her after history class. "Could it be the Great Granger is… afraid?" he mocked.

"The mudblood should be," Pansy called. "If she's not careful, the Heir might just purge her from the castle."

Hermione rounded on them. The whole lot of them. Malfoy, Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle. Daphne and Tracey quickly glided past to escape the scene. "You should be careful, too. Last time I checked, I've better marks than all of you combined." Her voice shook slightly.

"I'm pureblood," Pansy shot back. "The Heir wouldn't touch me." Hermione noticed the rest of Slytherin second year sticking around to watch.

"I'm surprised _anyone_ would touch you," Hermione pulled her best Malfoy sneer.

Pansy's eyes bulged and she bared her teeth in a feral snarl. "I'll be glad when you're dead, Granger. The Heir will sweep you out like all the other mudbloods. You heard Binns. Slytherin wanted _your_ kind out of here."

"That was a thousand years ago. Back then Muggles knew about magic. How much do you want to bet that Slytherin would pick a thoroughly under-average student over me? What is it Snape says, his house values success above all else?"

Malfoy, who had up till then been a rather entertained spectator, coughed a bit to draw attention. "I'd bet quite a bit seeing as when the Chamber was opened fifty years ago, a mudblood was killed."

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

 _The_ _ **Disarming Charm**_ _(_ Expelliarmus _) is a defensive charm which forces the target to relinquish control of whatever they are holding. The object will be sent sailing away from the target such that it cannot be quickly retrieved. The charm is usually used to disarm an opponent of their wand, hence rendering them weaponless and the confrontation over. Used in conjunction with the_ _ **Shielding Charm**_ _, the Disarming Charm is an effective and non-violent way to protect oneself._

 _Though primarily used in a dueling situation, the Disarming Charm has several effects. The most useful effect is to distance an opponent from their wand, though the same effect can be used to separate any object from its holder. The Disarming Charm can easily relieve a thief of his bounty or a personal belonging from prying eyes. Used in force by multiple wizards, the Disarming Charm has a more forceful effect, much like the_ _ **Stunning Spell**_ _. Multiple castings of the spell at the same time will throw the target back, along with whatever they are holding._

Hermione needed a way to defend herself. If the Heir was coming after her, she wanted to be ready. Her shield charm was decent, she admitted, but Hermione would rather not have to hide behind a shield and wait for help. If the Heir had no wand, he couldn't hurt her.

Unfortunately, she needed a subject to practice on. That would take some thinking. She could adopt the Weasley Theory of the Visible Hand of the Free Magic and go about the castle shooting off spells at students, but somehow Hermione thought people might take it the wrong way from a Slytherin. Especially after the writing on the wall. Even if Hermione _was_ a muggleborn.

Maybe Padma would volunteer...

Breakfast was a solemn affair. Malfoy didn't catch the snitch the day before, even with a bludger following Potter around. Even with Potter breaking his arm. Needless to say, the Slytherin table was rather drab. Malfoy's mouth was closed; Pansy wasn't blabbering. Flint was staring daggers at them both.

"A hundred and fifty points, was it?" Tracey muttered, loud enough for Malfoy to hear. "Better seeker, better breeding?" Daphne sitting with her arm linked with Tracey's, had a cruel little smile on her face. "Better brooms?"

Hermione spotted a twitch on Malfoy's reddening face. "At least Potter got what he deserves."

"Yes. Pity you couldn't beat a one armed boy on a slower broom," Zabini yawned.

"You'll never guess what I just saw!" Hermione heard from down the table. An older student had just walked in and sat down. "Professor Snape had me take some potions up to the hospital wing."

"And you saw Potter with his wobbly arm?" another boy asked in a bored voice.

"Well, that, too," the first boy said, his face excited. "But I saw someone else, though. A mudblood first year," he grin maliciously. "Petrified."

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

That was that. The Heir was after muggle-borns. Perhaps going from the youngest up. It wouldn't be long until Hermione was in his crosshairs.

She was so distracted that she had a hard time paying attention in class. Snape was saying something about… potions? That would make sense, though Hermione couldn't say for sure. What she could say was that her own house was hunting her.

Millicent elbowed her in the ribs. "What?" Hermione growled, looking at the taller girl.

"Aren't you going to start?"

"Start?"

"The potion."

"Oh. Yeah." Hermione opened her book, but didn't read it. She had to find a way to practice the disarming charm. If the Heir was coming after her…

But what if he didn't attack her directly? What if it was this… monster? Could she disarm her way out of a monster's clutches? Well, it wouldn't hurt.

Suddenly, she felt the slight breeze touch her arm that signalled that the sweeping robes of Severus Snape had arrived. Her cauldron was empty, her ingredients not even prepared. Hermione looked up slowly into the black eyes of her head of house. "A new technique, I am sure," he purred in a dangerous tone. "Have you indeed created a self-generating potion, Miss Granger?"

Hermione shook, first her head, then all the way down to her toes.

"A shame." His eyes left hers to sweep the classroom. "Although, if you do finish on time, you may yet achieve an O. Lord knows your worst day is superior to Longbottom's best… And his best doesn't happen very often…" His eyes settled back down on Hermione, then to her cauldron. "It _does_ , however, require you to _brew_ a _potion_ , Granger!"

Hermione squeaked as she hurried to start her potion. Her chopping was dicey at best. Uneven slices, hurried measurements. It very well may have been her worst day. At least she didn't blow up her cauldron.

She bottled up her brew with seconds to spare. It was a murky brown that did not at all fit with the description in the book. Malfoy sidled up next to her on the way to Snape's desk. He grinned triumphantly. "Not such a good day, eh, Granger?" His potion was a clear amber. "Something get to you?"

They set their bottles down in front of Snape. "It's no wonder you can't win with grace; you hardly get any practice. Does daddy get you a trophy for second place very often?" Hermione snarled at him as she spun away to pick up her bags.

"Careful, Granger. There be monsters in this school…"

"Mister Malfoy," Snape's cold voice called from behind his desk. He was considering Malfoy's potion carefully. "You will stay after class."

"My potion is perfect!" Malfoy complained.

"You may wish to extend your so called… _perfection_ … to activities outside the classroom. The pitch, perhaps?" There was that twitch again. Hermione pulled her best impression of a Malfoy sneer as she passed him on the way out. "Considering your performance over the weekend, we may be inclined to… reconsider your position."

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

The stone gargoyle guarding the headmaster's office was odd. It was perfectly still, but Hermione felt as though it was watching her, that it could hear her. "Excuse me," she said to it, quickly checking the hall to see if anyone was watching, in case this didn't work and she was just talking to a wall. "But I need to see the Headmaster. Professor Dumbledore." _You sound_ very _intelligent. As if there was any other headmaster…_ Hermione shook her head at herself. The gargoyle didn't move. It couldn't. It was stone. "Um… please? I _really_ need to talk to –"

Stone jumped to life. The gargoyle bounce out of the way as the wall split apart, revealing an ascending spiral staircase. "Uh, thanks?" she mumbled when the gargoyle winked at her. Hermione stepped onto the stairs and allowed it to carry her upwards until she reached an oaken door with a griffin knocker. She reached for it, hand trembling slightly, and knocked once. Twice.

The door slid open silently. Inside was a circular room filled with little whirling devices and scales and all sorts of odd gadgets. At the other end of the room was an enormous desk and behind it was the wizard himself: Dumbledore.

The old man was scribbling away with a quill almost two feet long, with a feather wobbling this was and that at every stroke. He didn't look up when she entered. Hermione took one step forward. Then another. It took her almost a minute to cross the distance to the desk, and another minute for Dumbledore to notice her. "Oh, Miss Granger!" His bushy eyebrows rose in surprise. "Did we have an appointment? I must have lost track of time."

"No," Hermione fidgeted. Maybe she didn't have to do this. Dumbledore was the greatest wizard of the century. He had everything under control. _This was a silly idea, anyway_. "No appointment… I sort of just asked the gargoyle… I'm sorry, Professor, I'll go." Hermione spun so fast her hair slapped her face. She made it several steps before Dumbledore spoke.

"Miss Granger, no need to run off," he said serenely. "You are already here, are you not? What can I do for you?"

Hermione hesitantly turned back to the headmaster. He waved his hand at the chair opposite him and it slid backwards invitingly. She took the seat offered, wringing her hands and avoiding eye contact with the old man. "Well, sir… I just, well…"

A chuckle from Dumbledore brought her eyes up to his. "There is no need to hide your feelings. Being afraid to admit fear is, I confess, one of my pet peeves with Slytherins. Always with the appearance of strength. But, remember, admitting weakness takes courage, and a certain type of strength, too." Dumbledore smiled warmly. "You want to know about the Chamber." It was as if he could look into her soul. Those twinkling eyes creeped her out. Hermione managed a nod. "I assure you, Hermione, can I call you Hermione? I find surnames to be quite impersonal. I assure you, Hermione, everything that can be done, is being done. There is no need to worry."

Hermione dropped her eyes to the desk. Her mind replayed his words over and over. _No need to worry. Everything is being done. You can go now…_ But something, perhaps her Slytherin side, or more possibly her Gryffindor side (what little she thought was there), made her speak up. "Is that what you told the boy in the hospital wing? Did you tell him not to worry?"

Dumbledore smiled a little less. "There is no need –"

"What are you doing to make me _not_ worry? You've already let one student get _petrified_. The mandrakes won't be ready until spring. He's going to miss his entire first year. And that's if the Heir doesn't finish what he started!"

"Miss Granger –"

Hermione could feel tears coming on. "What if I'm next? What are you going to do to stop it? I'm the muggle-born in Slytherin. I should be target number one. What if I'm next? _WHAT IF I'M NEXT? WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO TO STOP IT_?"

"Are we sure she's a Slytherin? Sound more badger to me…" a snarky voice sounded from above her head. A portrait was making a revolted face.

"Phinneas…" Dumbledore chided.

"Fuck off, you twat," Hermione spat at the portrait, who harrumphed and walked out of his frame.

"Language, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore in a soft voice.

She pulled her legs up to her chest and hugged herself, letting her hair fall over her face to hide her glistening cheeks.

"Hermione, I know how you feel."

"You're muggle-born, sir?" she sniffed, peeking out of her natural curtain.

"No, though I've had more than my share of contact with muggles…"

"Were you Slytherin, sir?"

"No."

"Have you ever been called mudblood? Snake? Swot?"

"No, Miss Granger –"

"Then how do you know how I feel? How everyone takes one look at me and judges me? I earn top marks so I must be the teacher's pet? I wear green so I must be evil? I was born to muggles so I must be inferior? _How do you know how I feel?_ " The tears returned twofold.

Dumbledore was still staring at her over his spectacles. "I know," he said, "how you feel. You want so desperately to make something of yourself. To be the master of your own path. But now you are in a situation where no matter what you do, how hard you try, you feel like you cannot control what is happening. There are obstacles at every turn. People try to bring you down. I've seen it before. I've felt it before. But, Hermione, know that it is _your_ life. When everything is over, your choices define who you are, who you were, and how you will be remembered. Choose the path you wish to take and you will get there in the end."

* * *

 **Hermione may (will) need more therapy sessions later, so we come back to the issue of a school counselor. Hermione can turn to an emotionally repressed murderer or a pathological master of manipulation. Is Dumbledore better than Snape? Well, in the long run... maybe. Let's just say that neither are primarily motivated by the kindness of their hearts.**

( **HMS Malfoy altering course)**


	9. The Malfoy Experiment

**Chapter 9**

 **The Malfoy Experiment**

There wasn't another attack in the next week, but that didn't mean much to Hermione. The Heir took a week to attack his first student after the message. It wasn't like he was punctual or anything.

Dumbledore's pep talk still rung in her mind. What did it mean? What did _he_ mean? He acted as if he had settled everything and shooed her out of his office. It most certainly did _not_ settle anything.

Hermione decided to follow her own 'path' to learn to defend herself, but she hit a road block with her independent study. Apparently even Ravenclaws were on edge about Slytherins after the attack. Padma didn't want to submit to being a punching bag for Hermione, not that Hermione would be _punching_ her, of course. No, Hermione would have to brainstorm another solution.

As Hermione finished breakfast, she finally decided that the best option available to her was to convince Professor Flitwick to have the disarming charm practiced during Charms Club. Hermione was surprised she didn't think of it earlier. It _was_ a charm, like the shielding charm, though probably more likely affiliated with Defense… Lockhart. _Well, let's just forget about that option_.

Hermione started off to the Charms classroom to see Flitwick before Potions. She'd have enough time, she thought. But as she walked out of the Great Hall, she noticed someone walking besides her. A certain blond boy.

"Off to Potions early, Granger?" he said cheerfully.

"Go away, Malfoy."

"I thought I'd join you."

Hermione stopped. She didn't want to lead Malfoy to Flitwick. He might show up at Charms Club with his cronies.

"You what?"

"I finished breakfast," he said innocently, a small smile playing on his lips.

"What makes you think you can walk with me?"

"I thought you'd be honored," he grinned.

"You're not worried you'll be gotten by the Heir? What if he tries to get me and hits you?" Hermione egged him on. He was up to something, or maybe he thought she was up to something. He'd be right.

"I think not, Granger. I'm a pureblood," said Malfoy confidently.

"That doesn't change my question. I'm not, as everyone has so nicely reminded me. He could attack me."

"Ah, but you're Slytherin," he said as if he had stumbled upon the answer to a riddle.

"So what?"

"So, if the hat put you in our house, he did so for a reason. I doubt the Heir would attack a Slytherin."

Hermione narrowed her eyes and stared at him. After a moment, Malfoy sighed and leaned back against the wall to wait. Hermione kept her gaze. He would break. Eventually.

Malfoy must have attended Daphne's school of cuticle care because he was intently inspecting his nails for any imperfections. "So…" he said after a minute. "If we don't go now, we'll no longer be early. Kind of defeats the purpose, don't you think?" Hermione declined to respond. Malfoy returned to his nails.

There was a small chance he wouldn't follow if Hermione walked away. Small. One percent? He was rather insistent. Probably wanted to see her die first hand. He was sadistic that way. Probably would dance with the Heir in a pool of her blood. But the joke was on him. Malfoy would be accessory to murder and spend the rest of his life in the wizard prison, Azkaban. Nasty place, that.

Hermione decided to take the one percent chance and started off without any warning. Within a second Malfoy was at her heals. _Not to charms, then_. "You still afraid of the Heir, then?" he said, and Hermione knew he had that superior little grin on his face.

"Go away," she said.

Malfoy sauntered beside her, hands tucked in his pockets in a nonchalant way. "For a Slytherin, you sure are quite dull."

"Why are you following me?"

"We're walking side by side, Granger. No possible way I could be following you," he brushed it off.

"You're being creepy."

"You're being hostile."

Hermione stopped outside the potions classroom. "You're an entitled little brat."

"You're a bitter little shrew," he threw back at her, jaw tense.

"You're childish."

"You're bookish."

"How is that an insult?" Hermione exclaimed.

That little twitch was back. While he paused to think, Hermione pushed her way into the room and stomped up to her seat at the front. Something was up with Malfoy, and Hermione didn't particularly want to find out. Maybe his father had heard about his unfortunate Quidditch game, and Malfoy wanted to take it out by tormenting Hermione. Certainly a possibility.

She was pulled out of her thoughts as Malfoy dropped his bags on her table and sat down. Hermione glared at him. "I thought we settled this. Get away from me."

" _Get away from me,_ " Malfoy mimicked. "Honestly, Granger, you don't seem to notice when a good thing happens to you."

"Oh?" Hermione said skeptically. "And what is that?"

"Me," he replied smugly.

"Do enlighten me."

"You've just become my new potions partner."

Hermione blinked. "I don't think so."

"Well, let's just see what Snape says," Malfoy leaned back in his chair. "He won't say no to me."

"Oh, let's not be hasty, Malfoy. Snape likes me."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "Does he now?" he laughed.

"Yes." The blond boy only widened his smile. "What?"

"Oh, it's just… Well, Snape doesn't like anyone. _Especially_ mudbloods. Gryffindors, too, but that is beside the point."

"Snape _gave_ me points for the troll last year," Hermione said pointedly.

Malfoy shrugged. "To spite McGonagall."

Hermione thought it over. That was believable were it not for the context of their conversation, and Hermione didn't want to delve into that with Malfoy. She went another route. "He always punishes Weasley for getting in my hair."

"Gryffindor. He really shouldn't, though. It must be tough getting stuck up there."

"I always score higher than you in Potions."

"A matter of effort."

Hermione tried thinking of another example but couldn't find one. The majority of her evidence was held within his office that night. Everything else… well, everything else could be explained away by his intense hatred of Potter, Gryffindors and immature children. There really wasn't much there. Snape treated her much like the other Slytherins.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Me? An O in Potions," he shrugged.

"You can get there without me. Go away."

"Sure. But it would be easier."

"Have Goyle make your potion. Simple."

He grimaced. "Simple is right. He doesn't seem to understand that a knife can have a sharp side and a dull side."

"I'm sure Pansy wouldn't mind chopping your roots."

Malfoy shook his head. "She'd rather blab about… something. I don't pay attention."

"You're a Malfoy. Figure it out."

"I have. You."

"Would it really be easier?"

"With Flint making us practice every night and all weekend, I think it would pay to have a competent potioneer. You know, in case I miss some reading."

"You mean skive off?"

Malfoy's face went intense. "Hey, Quidditch is _not_ skiving off!"

"Flying around on a broom tossing a ball to each other. Couldn't get more absurd."

"Hold on a minute. Quidditch has been the wizarding sport for hundreds of years. It is our heritage, our culture, our – our – our–"

"The scoring doesn't even make sense. You've got twelve players fooling around for the ten percent chance that they get to decide the game, while two others spend an hour watching them goof off until they catch the snotch."

"The snitch."

"Isn't that what I said?"

"No. You said–"

"Whatever."

" _Whatever_? You don't even know what you're talking about. You're such a – a…"

"A what?" Hermione prodded. "A mmmm…?"

"Such a mudblood."

"There it is," Hermione sighed.

"You are _such_ a mudblood. You don't care about our history."

"I _so_ do. I don't care for this… _sport_."

"Quidditch is part of _our_ history."

"An insignificant part."

"Mudblood."

"You keep calling me that and it loses its meaning."

"You keep being one and you'll be called it."

"I wasn't aware I could stop being one."

"You can't. But you compensate."

"Oh, I can compensate for my _dirty_ blood? How? Do I drink bleach?" Hermione laughed.

Malfoy frowned. "What is bleach?"

She rolled her eyes. "You are _such_ a pureblood."

A lough cough echoed from behind them. Professor Snape stalked around and leaned over their desk, his robes draping over his arms like a bat's wings. Hermione was suddenly acutely aware that the classroom had filled in behind them, and everyone was staring. "Do we have a problem here?" Snape's voice was silky smooth but it didn't disguise the steel beneath.

"No, Professor. Only a heated debate," Malfoy provided. "About potions…" he added meekly.

"I should hope so." Snape stood tall. "I thought I made myself _perfectly_ clear last time, Mister Malfoy." He turned his black eyes to Hermione. "Miss Granger. Have you made any progress on willing a potion into existence?"

"No, sir," she mumbled.

"Then I expect today you will begin brewing immediately after receiving instructions?" Hermione nodded and heard a muffled snicker from the back. "A point from Gryffindor,"called Snape without looking up. He held her gaze for a moment, then swept to the front of the classroom. "You will brew the Sleeping Draught this morning. It is a simple potion. I expect the results to reflect that. Begin." With a flick of his wand the instructions appeared on the blackboard.

Malfoy began to gather his materials, but Hermione stayed where she was. "Aren't you going to help, Granger?"

Hermione watched him for a moment, mulling things over. "What do I get out of this?"

"You really _are_ a Slytherin, then?" Malfoy smiled. For all appearances, a _genuine_ smile. "Let's say I can get Pansy off your back?" he offered.

"More than Pansy," Hermione said coolly.

"Oh?"

"If anyone from Slytherin harasses me, I will make it my personal mission to fail your Potions grade."

"An ultimatum. How interesting," he waggled his eyebrows. "What makes you think I control the whole of Slytherin?"

"You're a Malfoy. Figure it out."

His face went from amused to bemused to thoughtful. "I'll come up with a few ideas."

Hermione sighed.

* * *

 **Most Slytherin (and pureblood-)Hermione stories pair her with Draco. I find it curious that so far there have been calls for Hermione/Fluer,Daphne,Harry, but no Draco...**

 **That being said, let me be clear: This is not a Dramione story nor is it a romance story, this is a Hermione story. Draco will feature when Hermione allows it.**

 **(Changing circumstances...)**


	10. Partners

**A/N: Ady71 (guest) hopes for no deaths... but you've already met six people who will definitely die! Take a guess if you want. I don't think anyone will get all of them right. Or even half of them. *evil laughter***

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

 **Partners**

"With any luck, none of you will never run into one of these buggers, but nevertheless," Gilderoy Lockhart prattled at the front of the classroom, "You should be prepared to confront a gargoyle at any time."

Malfoy had taken it upon himself to sit next to Hermione in every class after potions. She was stuck between humoring his new sociable streak and kicking him to the curb. She had told him off the first time it happened but he responded by asking if Pansy had been lashing out with her tongue. She hadn't. So Hermione let it go. But that didn't mean she was pleased with this new development.

He might have a decent work ethic in potions, but that ended the second he stepped out of Snape's lair. In every other class he spent his time passing notes to his cronies, doodling, or straight-up daydreaming. That was when he wasn't baiting any Potter or Weasley he spotted.

Hermione appreciated a good Weasley bait as much as the next Slytherin, but at a certain point it turned into avoiding your responsibilities. And if there was anything Hermione detested more than a Weasley, it was a freeloader.

Malfoy was definitely freeloading.

The scratch of a quill caught her attention as Malfoy drew a small image in _Year of the Yeti_. Hermione stared at him, considering the consequences of impaling his pale hand with his own quill. Points off Slytherin, probably. Detention, most likely. Possibly expulsion. His _father_ would hear of it, to be sure. Might be worth it, though.

"Miss Granger," a stern voice called her back from her thoughts. Lockhart was frowning. "The gargoyle is up here." He motioned at the still stone form crouching on his desk. "Pay attention, please."

She felt her face heat up. Half the class wasn't paying attention. He was singling her out. And not in a good way. Hermione wanted to tell him off, take the matter to Dumbledore. Or Snape. Though she wasn't sure if they would do anything. Snape was just as unfair to the Gryffindors and Dumbledore hadn't stopped him yet.

Hermione glared hatefully at Lockhart's pristine hair for the rest of the period and was the first one up after class ended. She stomped back to the dungeons. Hermione wanted to look through her spell books to find something that make an explosion.

She was almost across the common room when someone called out, "Oi, Granger, where you going?"

Malfoy and company were dropping their bags at a table along the outer wall.

"My room, Malfoy. Where you can't bother me."

He jerked his head as if slapped and put a hand to his heart. "Oh, Granger, you wound me."

"What do you want?"

"There's a potions essay due tomorrow."

"I know."

"So let's get to work."

Hermione considered the group at the table. Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy. Add to that a Malfoy and she arrived at the inevitable response, "Hell, no."

"Come on, Granger. I have Quidditch tonight. I have to get it done now."

"We never agreed to this. I don't even know why you are sitting next to me in other classes. That's just creepy. Besides, I'm busy."

"Doing what?"

Hermione's lip curled upwards. "The potions essay."

"You little…" Malfoy was fighting off something between a snarl and a smile.

"This was never part of the deal, Malfoy. I don't know why you're so perplexed." Hermione enjoyed the little twit realize that he didn't always get his way. "Maybe you should tell your father…"

"Fine, Granger," Malfoy spat. "New deal."

"Oh?"

"Study partners. For every class."

"Now, when you say 'study partners'…"

"We work together. Get easy O's."

"I could do that without you."

"But you wouldn't have as much extra time."

"For what?"

"Whatever you do when you disappear."

Hermione paused. "Excuse me?"

"Well, you can't always be in the library, and Pansy says you're hardly ever in your room. You're doing something."

"I don't know what you mean," Hermione replied flatly after a moment.

"Whatever. I don't want to know what you get up to. The point is we both benefit."

"Because I'm the better wizard."

Malfoy blinked. "I never said–"

"Say it. I'm the better wizard."

"No," he growled. "You can't be."

"Why not? You need my help. You've admitted that."

"I don't need…" he said sullenly, brow furrowed.

Hermione tapped her foot as she waited for the sentence that she would never hear.

Then Malfoy mumbled it.

"I didn't catch that."

"I _said_ ," he muttered. "You're the better student."

"That's not what I told you to say."

"It's what I said."

Hermione considered him for a moment. It was probably the best she was going to get out of him. "Very well, Malfoy. Come." She marched back across the common room.

"Where're you going?"

"Come," she repeated.

"I'm not some dog you can command." But he still followed her after a second. She emerged from the Slytherin dorms into the dusky dungeon corridor, Malfoy on her heels. Hermione led him to an empty classroom and pulled him in, locking the door. "So this is what you've been doing?" Malfoy smirked. "I'd never peg you for a naughty girl, Granger. It seems your blood isn't the only dirty thing about–"

Hermione rounded and slapped him across the face. Hard.

" _Merlin!_ " Malfoy exclaimed. "What was that for?"

She slapped him again. As with the first, he wasn't expecting it and now had two red marks on either cheek. "That's it," he growled, reaching into his robes. Hermione was faster.

" _Expelliarmus!_ " She watched with glee as Malfoy's wand flipped out of his hand and into hers. "Alright, Malfoy. New deal. My terms."

Malfoy's entire face was now pink. She didn't know if that was down to getting slapped twice, being disarmed by a muggle-born, or being disarmed by girl. Probably all of them. _Just wait until his father hears about this_ , she giggled to herself.

"Tell me about the Chamber of Secrets," she said.

"The Chamber of Secrets?" he asked, astonished. "You still on about that?"

"Spill, Malfoy. I know you know something."

He swayed from side to side, considering his options. "I know the Chamber was opened before," he offered after a minute.

"And?" Hermione still had her wand pointed at him.

"Fifty years ago," he said.

He'd already spilled the beans on that. "Who opened it?"

"I assume the Heir."

"What happened?"

"A girl died."

He wasn't being very helpful. "Who?"

"I don't know."

"How did it stop?"

Malfoy shrugged. "I suppose the guy was caught."

"So who was it?"

He shrugged again. "Don't know."

"What _do_ you know?"

"I know the school almost shut down."

"How do you know all this?"

"Father told me."

"And you don't know who opened it this time?"

Malfoy rolled his head around in an ambiguous way. "Well…" Hermione stepped forward and jabbed her wand at him. Malfoy yelped and jumped backwards. "I don't know!"

Hermione frowned. If Malfoy didn't know, who else would? Possibly one of the older Slytherins, but Malfoy would probably have weaseled it out of them by now. The teachers might have a guess. But none of them were talking about the girl fifty years ago, or even about the Chamber being opened before.

After a minute, Hermione sighed. "Fine," she tossed Malfoy's wand back to him. "But if you don't know anything, I need something else."

"What?"

"Practice," Hermione grinned. " _Expelliarmus!_ "

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

"I wouldn't mind having one of these hung up on my wall," Pansy commented as she paged through Scamander at a rate that indicated she was _not_ absorbing any information at all. While everyone else was working on the essay, Pansy was looking at the pictures. "Say what you want about Lockhart, but he knows how to pick interesting creatures." Hermione suppressed a snort.

"You're not done already, are you?" Crabbe asked, brow furrowed and eyes flicking back and forth from his parchment to the book.

"I'll finish later," Pansy said.

Malfoy was writing away in his elegant script, hardly pausing to find a reference in his textbook. "We're finishing now, Pansy," he said.

Pansy pulled her legs close to her chest and flipped a few more pages. "I'll finish later."

"Then you'll finish without us," Malfoy growled. He finished writing with a flourish and dropped his quill on the table. "There. Done."

"Welcome to the club," Hermione muttered, having already moved on to the transfiguration homework.

" _Some_ of us aren't swots," Pansy spat back without raising her eyes from her pictures.

It was at these times that Hermione wished she had taken her dad up on his offer of boxing lessons. Breaking Pansy's nose would be great stress relief. Hermione turned to Malfoy. He was staring off into space, showing no indication he was going to muzzle his bitch. " _Some_ of us don't fail classes," Hermione purred back at her.

Pansy looked up from her book. "Watch your mouth."

"Watch your marks," she snapped.

Pansy bared her teeth. "I _will_ hurt you, slag."

"I'd like to see you try," snarled Hermione. "Make sure you know which end of your wand to hold. It'd be a shame if you failed that class, too."

Pansy leapt out of her chair, hand diving into her robes. Crabbe and Goyle, quick for their size, backed away from the table. Hermione was up, too, but before her hand closed on her wand Pansy yelped and crumpled back into her seat, clutching her shin.

Malfoy coughed slightly into his hand. "Ladies, keep it civil."

" _Ladies_?" Pansy gagged. "She's a _mudbl–_ "

Suddenly Malfoy was standing over Pansy. "I said civil, Parkinson."

Pansy's face was reddening in a rage and she stood up to face Malfoy. She looked to be barely holding back a screech. "You – you – what is with you?" she squawked. "I never though a _Malfoy_ would be a _blood traitor_." The last word died out in a garble. Malfoy had grabbed her neck and pushed her against a wall. Pansy swatted for his face but she was intercepted by the meaty hands of Crabbe and Goyle; they held her arms against the wall, pinning her there. Hermione watched as the long white fingers of Malfoy squeezed against the bulging throat of her enemy. A sly grin spread across her face and she leaned forward to catch Malfoy's whisper.

"If," he breathed, almost nose to nose with Pansy, "you _ever_ insult my name again, I will gut you like the pig you are." Her face was beginning to turn purple. Malfoy leaned closer and said something into her ear. Pansy's eyes bulged.

Then she slid down the wall as the boys released her. She leaned against the wall for a moment, sucking in air, then bolted towards the dormitories, and directly into the path of Theodore Nott. The tall, thin boy seemed to drop his shoulder instinctively, clipping Pansy and sending her tumbling. "Pansy," he commented, his face impassive. After a second he slowly extended a hand to help her up but she ignored it, half-crawling as she clawed her way back to her feet and down the corridor. Hermione supressed a laugh. _Pathetic_. Nott withdrew his hand with the same measured lethargy and watched her run off. He turned back to the group. His eyes fixed on Malfoy. "What did you do to her?" he asked softly.

Malfoy shrugged as he took his seat again, followed by his henchmen. "She was out of order."

Nott looked back the way Pansy ran, then took her empty seat. "Nothing permanent, I hope."

"She doesn't know when to stay down," Hermione said as she sat. Nott flicked his expressionless eyes to her for a brief second before looking away.

"Where have you been, Theo?" Malfoy asked him.

"I had to owl father," he said. "Are you sure it was best to… discipline Pansy?" Malfoy responded with a single raised eyebrow. _That bastard can do that?_ "We wouldn't want you to ruin your father's plans."

"You're mad, Theo," Malfoy scoffed. "Pansy figures into none of my father's plans. What made you think that?"

Nott cocked his head. "She was talking about the summer…"

"What about summer?" Malfoy frowned.

"You know…"

"Say what you mean, Theo," Malfoy challenged.

"I just thought…" he trailed off, eyes now resting somewhere above Malfoy's head. Hermione stole a glance at Crabbe and Goyle. Just spectators to the aristocracy's little game. They were as lost as she was. That was reassuring at the same time as it was infuriating. Hermione should never be on the same level as those apes. But they weren't ahead of her either.

Nott took his time before speaking again. "So… No part?"

Now it was Malfoy's turn to consider his friend. These were the little interactions Hermione had been missing out on. The conversations in the Slytherin common room were so much more interesting than the library, even if more confusing. "No part," Malfoy said finally. "Why?"

"Father started talking," Nott shrugged. "I was wondering about you."

"Mother started in on me over the holidays last year," Malfoy nodded. "Father hasn't said much yet."

"You know?"

"I have an idea. You?"

Nott took a beat. "An idea."

Malfoy stared at him a moment before a smile started breaking out. "Really, Theo? You sure about that one?"

Nott sat up straighter in his chair. "I stopped by the Great Hall on my way from the owlry," Malfoy had an evil grin on his face but let Nott change the subject. "There's a duelling club. Tonight."

* * *

 **Building up those characters, little by little. Gotta make up for a year and a half of oblivious!Hemrione.**

 **I swear the plot is around here somewhere... Maybe next chapter.**

 **(I don't think a hint will be necessary)**


	11. From the Mouths of Snakes

**Lockhart/Snape dialogue is paraphrased or quoted from HP:CS.**

* * *

 **Chapter 11**

 **From the Mouths of Snakes**

"Jesus Christ." Hermione couldn't believe it. Flitwick was a former dueling champion and _Lockhart_ was leading the club? The floosy was strutting up onto stage in plum robes and a silly grin on his annoyingly symmetrical face.

"What was that?" Malfoy asked.

"What?"

"The thing you just said."

"Oh, it's just a muggle saying."

He frowned. "Best not to say it, then."

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," Lockhart was saying. At least there would be _someone_ competent around when all hell broke loose.

A minute later, Lockhart was sprawled on his ass and Snape was standing triumphant. "An excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy – however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see…" Hermione couldn't help but lose any shred of respect she might have held in reserve for the DADA professor. "Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me –"

Hermione turned to the blond boy beside him and let a little grin find its way to her lips. "Ready for round two, Malfoy?"

Malfoy returned a pleasant smile to her. "I would, but Vincent here already asked to partner me." He reached out blindly, grabbing Goyle.

"Scared?" Hermione laughed.

"Hardly," he replied, but pulled Goyle away with him, leaving Hermione near a very quiet, very still Crabbe who was trying not to look at her. That was all well and good. She didn't want to look at him either. Hermione spotted Millicent through the crowd and made her way towards her. She had almost made it there ahead of the advancing Lockhart when she heard her name.

"Miss Granger, come over here," Professor Snape called from over her shoulder. He was standing next to a very put off boy with messy black hair and bright green eyes. "Let's see what you make of the famous Potter. Miss Patil – you can partner Miss Bulstrode."

Hermione walked over to where Potter was standing and drew her wand. He did the same.

"Face your partners! And bow!" Hermione nodded her head slightly. "Wands at the ready! When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents – only to disarm them – we don't want any accidents – one … two… three –"

Potter swung his wand. " _Rictumsempra!_ " he shouted.

" _Protego!_ " Hermione parried with ease. _That wasn't a disarming charm_ , she thought to herself. Potter stood still for a moment, as if he couldn't believe she swatted away his spell so easily. _Well, here's some of your own medicine_. " _Petrificus Totalus!_ " Potter tried to slide out of the way but was too slow. His arms snapped to his side and he toppled to the ground, frozen.

The rest of the Great Hall had exploded into chaos. " _I said disarm only!_ " Lockhart was jumping around trying to comprehend the students' blatant disregard for anything he said. Weasley had done something to Finnigan to make him look ill and Longbottom had made his way to the floor quite quickly.

Malfoy was tossing spell after spell at Goyle, who was acting like a punching bag rather than a sparring partner. An evil grin spread across her face. With a snap of her wand, she cried, " _Expelliarmus!_ " and Malfoy's wand flipped out of his hand. Malfoy spun around, caught her eye and glared. Hermione gave him a little wave and turned into the crowd to survey the rest of the carnage.

"Stop! Stop!" Lockhart was losing it.

" _Finite Incantatem!_ " Snape bellowed. Action across the hall dissipated under a green smoke. The last pair to stop was Millicent and Parvati, and only because Potter got off the floor dragged Millicent away from the girl.

"I think I'd better teach you how to _block_ unfriendly spells," Lockhart was saying. "Let's have a volunteer pair – Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you –"

"A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," Snape swooped over to the amateur teacher. "Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox. How about Potter and Granger?"

"Ah! Yes, well, you see..." Lockhart stepped closer to Snape and whispered something to him.

Snape face turned to a picture of disgust. "I think I know my own student better than you. And let me remind you that Miss Granger is the only one here who was able to _block_ a spell."

Lockhart chewed on his lip. His eyes drifted to Hermione. She glared at him. "Very well," he piped. "Harry, with me." He bounced off to Potter's side as an arena opened up at the center of the packed hall.

Snape made a brusque wave of his hand to gesture for Hermione to join him. "What are you going to do to Potter?" he asked curtly.

Hermione looked over to where Lockhart was wiggling his wand. He dropped it. "Disarm him, I guess," she shrugged. _But if he gets uppity…_

Snape stroked his chin. "No, I don't think so," he mused. "I have a spell for you."

"The lesson is to disarm and block, sir," Hermione said. "I already know those spells."

"This is Potter. Have you ever known him to play by the rules?" Snape sneered. Hermione shook her head. He leaned in and whispered the spell in her ear.

She mulled it over in her head. "Can I practice it first?" she asked.

Snape frowned. "It's a simple enough spell." He grabbed her by the scruff of her robes and shoved her forward. Potter was being pushed forward similarly by Lockhart as well.

"Three –" Lockhart began pompously. "Two –" Hermione realigned her grip on her wand. "One –" She snuck a peak off to the side at Snape, who gave her a small nod. "Go!"

Hermione stepped forward and swung her wand, " _Serpensortia!_ "

A long black snake spouted out of her wand like a jet of water and slapped onto the ground between her and Potter. The crowd jumped backwards and screamed. Potter was frozen in place. Hermione couldn't help but smile as Snape strolled forward. "Don't move, Potter. I'll get rid of it…"

"Allow me!" Lockhart jumped up. He jabbed his wand at the snake and sent it arcing into the air. The snake bared its fangs and charged Justin, who watched it dumbly.

Potter jumped forward, making a sick hissing sound that reverberated throughout the hall. Hermione was transfixed. A cold shiver traveled down her spine. Time seemed to stop in that moment.

 _The Chamber of Secrets has been opened._

Potter was talking to the snake.

 _There is no need to worry_.

Potter was a Parselmouth.

 _Fifty years ago a mudblood was killed_.

Salazar Slytherin was a Parselmouth.

 _Enemies of the Heir, beware._

Now Potter was smiling. Grinning. And staring at Justin. Sheer glee on his face.

 _You'll be next, mudbloods._

Finch-Fletchley was next. He was muggle-born. Potter was marking him as a target.

"What do you think you're playing at?" Justin shouted before tearing out of the hall.

Snape stepped up and vanished the snake. Every eye was on Potter and he was beginning to notice. Beginning to realize he had made a mistake. He had showed himself in front of half the school. Weasley ran up to him and began dragging him away. Getting him away before he exposed himself further.

"Um… Well… I think that worked out _brilliantly,_ " Lockhart deadpanned, eyeing Hermione. "We're done for the evening, don't you think, Severus?"

Hermione stood rooted to the spot as it dawned on her. She had attacked the Heir of Slytherin. She had _petrified_ him. And tried to set a _snake_ on him.

Hermione was going to die a horribly painful death.

A tugging on her sleeve snapped Hermione out of her trance. The hall was nearly empty. Only a handful of students were left, with Professor Snape standing as still as a statue, deep in thought.

"Come on, Granger," Malfoy said, pulling at her robe. "Let's get going."

"He spoke _Parseltongue_ ," was all Hermione could manage.

Only Slytherins were left in the hall now. Some were deep in thought, others disappointed that the club was over so quickly, and then Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle standing around her.

"I heard. Let's go," he said again.

But Hermione didn't move. She was looking at Snape. "He spoke _Parseltongue_ , Professor," she said accusingly. Snape turned his black eyes to her but did not speak. "And you just let him run out of the hall? He's the Heir! Get him!"

"Nonsense, Granger," Malfoy scoffed. "No way _Potter_ is the Heir. Right, Professor?"

Snape hesitated, mouth slightly open, "I must speak to the Headmaster."

" _WHAT?_ " shouted Hermione . " _Go get Potter_!"

"Hold your tongue, Miss Granger - Five points from Slytherin. Back to the dungeons, all of you," Snape seethed before sweeping out of the hall.

Hermione stood mouth agape as her head of house fled the scene of the crime. _GO GET POTTER_ , she wanted to scream. _GO GET HIM BEFORE HE KILLS ME!_

* * *

 **Okay, I suppose the dueling club action is sort of copy-paste from canon but Hermione hasn't blown _everything_ to bits yet. It stands to reason that things are only a bit skewed so far. **

**From this chapter on the story was just a pleasure to write. Everything fell into place fairly easily. I hope you enjoy.**

 **(Think of Hermione as a tea pot on the stove)**


	12. Heir Presumptive

**Chapter 12**

 **Heir Presumptive**

Hermione stopped suddenly as they left the Great Hall.

"What if I kill him first?"

Malfoy laughed and walked ahead. "Kill Saint Potter? No one would let you do that."

"He's the Heir. They won't care."

"Potter is _not_ the Heir," Malfoy gagged, turning around.

"He spoke _Parseltongue_!" she cried.

"He's not even _in_ Slytherin. Get over it. Potter can't be _everything_."

Hermione slid her hand into her robes to grab hold of her wand. "He can't hurt me if he's dead."

"Not happening, Granger. I won't let it."

"'Won't let it'? You're protecting him now?"

"It would reflect badly on me," Malfoy scowled. "Let's go."

As he turned away, Hermione drew her wand and took off in the opposite direction. Dashing up steps, she was vaguely aware of Malfoy following her. After two flights of stairs she risked a look back. Malfoy was hot on her tail, but Crabbe and Goyle were lagging far behind. "What's your plan, there, Granger? You're going to get yourself expelled, or worse!" Hermione ignored him and continued up the stairs. Gryffindor dormitories were somewhere up these stairs. She had seen the pride of lions ascend the steps every day for the past year and a half. It _had_ to be around here somewhere, didn't it? Now she was cursing herself for not exploring the castle adequately. She had been too stuck in her bubble.

"What are you going to do, knock on the door and ask them to send out Potter?" Malfoy called out behind her; he was slowly gaining on her.

"Maybe they will," she yelled back. Gryffindors won't want the Heir hiding in their common room, would they? Of course, they wouldn't be able to do what must be done. It wouldn't be honourable to turn on their own. No glory in that.

"Weasley will curse you the second he sees you!"

"I'll stop him."

"You think Wood would let you hurt his precious seeker? He'd flatten you in an instant!"

Hermione hesitated as she reached the top landing, caching her breath. There was nothing but portraits on the walls. Deciding to take a lap around the perimeter of the tower, maybe ask a few of the creepy pictures some directions, Hermione tried to set off but was pulled back by a hand on her arm.

"You need to stop, Granger," Malfoy said, trying to restrain her.

"Get the fuck off me," Hermione tugged again. "Let me do it! I have to do it!"

"Why?" he challenged her. "Why you? If Potter really is the Heir, let Dumbledore handle it. Let Snape handle it. Hell, let McGonagall handle it." Malfoy grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her like a rag-doll. "You can't go smashing into other dormitories demanding blood. Even _if_ you get in, you're just a second year girl. You're small even for our age. _Anybody_ will be able to throw you out. You think you're invincible because you cast a few spells? If Potter is the Heir, he will eviscerate you. The Weasleys will flay you alive. Do you honestly believe that you can take on half of Gryffindor while the other half goes to get you expelled? You go breaking into the lion's den and you'll be gutted, hung, and burned at the stake before receiving the dementor's kiss. Think, damn it, Granger. You're a Slytherin. Start acting like one."

Hermione bared her teeth. "No, I'm a mudblood, Malfoy. You've made it _very_ clear that my color is brown before it is green."

"That's bullshit," Malfoy scoffed. "And you know it. I've only ever called you mudblood once, and you deserved it."

"Yeah, what about 'you'll be next, mudbloods'?"

"I wasn't talking to you."

" _That's_ bullshit. What makes me different from that Creevy kid? Or Dean? Or Justin? You want them to die. Don't lie to me. Why am I any different?"

Malfoy was silent. He opened his mouth for a second, then closed it.

"I thought so." Hermione pulled away and began down the hallway.

"You can't go looking for Potter," he called after her, following at a distance. "He's not the Heir, Granger. You're going to end up regretting this."

"Somehow I don't think I will…" Hermione stopped at an old painting that held a bearded knight slowly sharpening his sword. "Which way to the Gryffindor common room?"

The knight looked up slowly and peered out at her. "Has the lion shed its fur and grown scales in my time away from this world?"

Hermione looked down at the Slytherin crest on her robes. "Screw you, too," she growled at the portrait.

"Those Weasley twins are sadistic," Malfoy was saying. "They'll think something up to punish you. Even Dumbledore won't even be able to reverse it. And they'll get away with it because no one will mind. What's one more snake down the drain to the mighty Gryffindor?"

"Do you _ever_ shut up?" Hermione spat at him. He only shrugged in response. Malfoy followed her around the floor, finding nothing but portraits and empty classrooms. Finally, circling back to the staircase and seeing Crabbe and Goyle wheezing their way up, Hermione stopped. No grand doors to a dormitory. No blank patch of wall to indicate a secret entrance. Was it a portrait? Didn't _Hogwarts, A History_ say something about that? But which one?

Hermione was beginning to lose hope. Malfoy wasn't going to be any help. Crabbe and Goyle weren't _able_ to be help. She could sit around and wait for a Gryffindor to show up. But curfew was approaching. She couldn't interview and cross-examine every single portrait on the floor before a prefect or a teacher caught her. "What is worse than being expelled?" she asked Malfoy.

"What?"

"You said I'd be expelled, or worse. What is worse?"

"I don't know. Death?"

Hermione frowned. "Fearing death is like being afraid of sleeping. Or eating. To live you have to die."

"I'd rather be expelled than dead."

"Death is inevitable."

"If you're not afraid, why are you acting like a loon?"

 _This is Malfoy,_ Hermione hesitated. _Don't say anything you'll regret later_. "It's the principle of it."

"You don't want to die, but you'd rather die than be expelled?"

Hermione shook her head at him. "You've got a name, a stack of gold and connections in the world."

"So?"

He didn't get it. Nobody got it.

"Try to think about someone else for a change. If I get expelled, what do you think would happen? What – I –" Hermione struggled to find the words. "I'm not going back to the muggle world, Malfoy."

"Then stop," he said. "You're going to get yourself expelled."

"I'm not going back."

"You said that."

"I'm a witch."

"I know, Granger."

"I'm not a muggle."

"I can tell because you've got a wand."

"I'm going to make sure the Potter is stopped." Hermione started down the stairs.

"Okay – wait!" Malfoy was after her a second later. "Where're you going now?"

Hermione felt a pull on her robes, but pushed ahead, letting the robes slip off. She dashed down several flights and tore through a hall before sliding to a halt in front of the gargoyle. "Let me in. Now!" But the gargoyle was already leaping out of the way. The wall parted to reveal the black cloak, black hair and black eyes of Professor Snape.

"Miss Granger…" he said coolly. "Mister Malfoy. I told you to return to the dungeons –"

The wall was closing. She had to get in. "Sorry, Professor –" Hermione squeaked as she dived past him and onto the spiral stairs.

" _Granger!_ " she heard as the wall closed behind her.

Hermione sprinted up the stairs, grinding of stone telling her Professor Snape was coming after her. She reached the oak door and knocked. Thankfully, it opened almost immediately.

"Professor!" she cried, running into the office. "Professor Dumbledore!"

The headmaster was standing off to the side of the office, over a stone basin, turning a silver phial in his spindly fingers. "Miss Granger?" he asked, surprised. "I am sure we don't have an appointment this time."

"It's Potter, Professor. It's Potter! He is the Heir! He opened the Chamber, it's him."

She rushed to Dumbledore's desk as Snape burst into the office. " _Granger_. Come here, _now_ ," he commanded in a dangerous tone. "I apologize, Headmaster. The girl _clearly_ has no sense of boundaries."

Dumbledore raised a wrinkled hand to calm Snape. "Do you have any evidence to back up your claim, Miss Granger?"

"He spoke _Parseltongue_ , Professor! I conjured a snake and he made it attack Justin!"

"Did he, now?"

"I saw it. Professor Snape saw it. _Everybody_ saw it."

"Thank you, Severus. I think I can handle this on my own. Please go inform Minerva I must to speak to her," Dumbledore said wearily. Snape grumbled something and left. A soft rustling came from behind Hermione. There was a sick-looking bird mewing softly. "Pay no attention to Fawkes," Dumbledore said. "I'm sure Harry did not set the snake on Mister Finch-Fletchley."

Hermione turned away from the glowing, coughing bird. "But he spoke to it. _Commanded_ it. And it listened to him!"

Dumbledore spread his hands wide and gave a solemn smile. "But what does that prove, Miss Granger?"

"He is the Heir!"

The old wizard shook his head. "No, that he can speak Parseltonuge."

"So he is the Heir."

"Why do you say that?"

"Salazar Slytherin spoke Parseltongue." If Hermione dared, she would have rolled her eyes. _Why must teachers always try to milk out answers instead of proceeding like adults?_ "It is an exceedingly rare talent. Slytherin's descendants inherited it. Potter _must_ to be the Heir."

Dumbledore's bushy eyebrows quivered. "Miss Granger, _I_ can understand Parseltongue. Are you accusing me of petrifying one of my students?"

"Uh – I –" _Dumbledore speaks Parseltongue?_

"The Queen of England speaks English, yes?"

Hermione hesitated. "…Yes?"

"So do you. Does that make you a princess?"

"No, but English –"

"Does your father speak another language?" What was he going on about?

"He learned some German, but I don't –"

"Do you speak German?"

"No, but -"

"Are you any less his heir?"

"You're talking about _learned_ languages, Professor. Parseltongue is _inherited_ ," Hermione exclaimed.

He shook his head. "I didn't inherit Parseltongue, Miss Granger. I learned it. Languages are just that: different ways of speaking. They do not indicate intentions or motives, _or_ inheritance."

"But… but Potter didn't – He'd have to study… for his whole life, and Potter just isn't intelligent enough –"

"Miss Granger, it is not your place to judge your peers."

" _They_ judge _me_ ," she spat.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with something Hermione could only guess was concealed malice. "Is this about Mister Potter, or yourself?"

Hermione was at a loss. Was he playing some sort of game with her? "You're not going to do anything about this." It wasn't a question.

"What would you have me do?"

"I don't know, expel him? Have him arrested?"

"For speaking to a snake? I don't think so, Miss Granger. A few words in another language don't condemn a boy to prison. Mister Potter is not the Heir."

"Then _who_ , Professor? Potter basically admitted it in front of half the school. He threatened Justin!"

"From what Severus said, it seems to me that Mister Potter was trying to stop the snake."

"But _Professor_ –"

Dumbledore held up his hands. "I think it is getting past curfew, Miss Granger. You'd best be heading out. As I said last time, you need not worry. Everything is being handled."

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

Malfoy was waiting at the bottom of the spiral stairs. Leaning against the wall and looking glum, he threw Hermione's discarded robe at her. "You done, Granger?"

"Why are you here?" she asked, stalking past him.

"So you don't go berserk before you get to the common room," he muttered. "Not by choice, mind you. Snape got it in his head that you needed an escort."

"What I _need_ is for Dumbledore to get his head out of his arse," Hermione growled back.

"So no Potter inquisition?"

"No, but don't worry. _Everything is being handled_."

"Father's right, then," Malfoy snorted. "The old man is losing it."

"He's certainly not _acquiring_ any faculties. He started asking me about speaking German. Then started saying Potter wasn't trying to set the snake on Justin." Hermione reached the stairs and took them two at a time. _Fucking Dumbledore_. _If he gets me killed, I'll haunt him_. Malfoy was oddly silent. Hermione looked back at him, several steps behind. He seemed to be considering saying something. "What?"

"Well…" he began slowly, "If Potter _really_ wanted the snake to attack the Hufflepuff, don't you think he'd have a couple fang holes in him right now?"

"You don't think Potter was telling the snake to attack? What the hell is wrong with you, Malfoy? Defending _Potter_?"

"Watch it, Granger. I'm not defending Potter, I'm using my brain. There is _no way_ Potter is the Heir of _Slytherin_. You're just barmy."

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

"Barmy, am I?" she hissed at Malfoy. They had followed McGonagall out of class at the sound of Peeves' screams. There, laying in the middle of the hall, was Justin. And over his body: Potter.

Malfoy scratched his chin. "It doesn't make sense…"

McGonagall took control of the situation and cleared everyone out, taking Potter in the direction of Dumbledore's office.

That was it. Potter was done. Dumbledore could not escape it. No chance. None at all.

Nope.

No chance.

* * *

 **(Slytherins have plans)**


	13. Potions Project

**Chapter 13**

 **Potions Project**

"He was there! Right there! Standing over the victim. How is he still _here?_ "

Professor Snape had intercepted Hermione on her way to Dumbledore's office. Something had tipped him off. Maybe it was the fact that Hermione's face was contorted in rage and fury. Maybe it was the stream of cruses spewing from her mouth. It was something, because when she stormed out of the Great Hall heading for the Headmaster's office having witnessed Potter return to the Gryffindor table Professor Snape was quick on her heels. Snape dragged her down to his office, no doubt under orders to not let her anywhere near Dumbledore.

Now a pissed off Hermione sat across the desk from a pissed off Snape. "Control yourself, Granger. I do not have the patience for your hysterics tonight."

"Hysterics? _Hysterics_? What do you think I am, a fucking _Gryffindor_?"

"Watch your language, girl."

"You watch your _fucking_ language! If this school is going to let me just keel over and die because Dumbledore won't touch his golden boy, I'll swear whenever the _fuck_ I want," Hermione screamed at him.

Snape curled his fingers into a tight fist. Hermione could see the tendons popping out of his skin. "Do not think that cursing makes you anymore mature than you are. You're acting like a child. Speak to me properly if you want me to do anything."

Hermione gripped the armrests, stabbing her fingertips into the wood until they were numb. "Potter was found at the message," she said slowly, enunciating each word carefully so that Snape could hear it through the grease in his ear. "Potter was out of his dormitory the night Creevy was attacked. Potter spoke to the snake. Potter threatened Justin. Potter was looking for Justin yesterday. Potter was found standing over a petrified Justin. What. More. Do. You. Want?"

"You are letting personal feelings muddle your mind," Snape growled.

"Isn't that what you do every day in class?" Hermione snarled back at him.

" _Worse_ , still, you are letting _fear_ shape your thoughts."

"I am _not_ afraid!"

Snape slammed his fist on the desk. "You've been afraid since the moment you stepped onto the Hogwarts Express," he sneered at her. "You've been afraid of everything. Afraid of the people. Afraid of magic. Afraid of failure. And now you are afraid some bogeyman legend. _Pull it together_. Stop being a Hufflepuff."

"I'm no Gryffindor, either," Hermione muttered. "And this _bogeyman_ has petrified two students, a ghost and a cat."

"A Gryffindor, when faced with adversity - for better or for worse - will choose to attack it head on. A Slytherin creates a plan. You have done neither. All you've done is sob to the headmaster and throw a tantrum." Hermione's head of house stood up abruptly. "I expected more from you, Miss Granger. Return to the dormitories. If I catch you causing any more disturbances, you'll have detention for the rest of the year."

"Good, so Potter can take both of us out at the same time," Hermione muttered under her breath.

"What was that?"

"I didn't say anything, sir," Hermione stood and made for the door. A plan to stop Potter? _Malfoy has already stopped me from killing him_. If his duelling club confession was _circumstantial,_ she would need something more convincing. Then it hit her. Hermione stopped at the door and glared at Snape. "I need a pass to get into the restricted section."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "For what purpose?"

"I need to do some research," she said with a tight jaw. " _Drafts and Potions_ doesn't seem very comprehensive or advanced. I don't have the proper materials to work on my auto-brewing potion, sir. If you want me to make it... appear as it needs to, I need access to books in the restricted section."

Hermione stared into the deep blackness of Snape's eyes for what seemed like minutes. He finally broke contact and scrawled on a note, his voice dripping with venom. "If _anyone_ winds up poisoned in the hospital wing, I will have you expelled faster than you can say _Most Potente Potions_."

Snape shoved the note into her hand and pushed her out of his office. "Yes, sir," Hermione smiled. "Thank you, sir."

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

Hermione threw the large, dusty tome down right on top of Malfoy's school work.

"Merlin, Granger, get your own table!" he cried, trying to rescue his parchments.

"This is far more interesting than your half-assed essays, Malfoy." Hermione purred, opening the book and dropping the opened end it on his hands.

"Yeah? Screw off Granger. That's not schoolwork. I don't want any part in your swotty extracurricular projects." Malfoy tugged at his parchments, pulling most from beneath Hermione's book without much trouble, and started back in on his furious scribbling.

"How would you like," Hermione began, knowing how best to get Malfoy to help her. She couldn't pull this off on her own. "To get one back on Potter?"

Malfoy paused his quill, thought for a second, then set off again. "I don't need to read dusty books to do that."

"If we do this perfectly, we will have full access to the Gryffindor common room. And the dorms. And no one will know it was us."

The scratching stopped again. "You're not going to try and kill him again, are you?"

"No. This will only be for information."

Malfoy debated it in his head, chewing his lip. "What do you have in mind?"

"Mister Malfoy, have you ever heard of the Polyjuice potion?" Hermione grinned evilly.

"You don't know how to make that." Malfoy scoffed. "That is NEWT level, at least."

"Why do you think I _have_ the book, Malfoy? I've got a plan. I've got the recipe. All I need is a co-conspirator. Are you in, or are you out?"

Malfoy stroked his chin. "What are we going to do when we are there?"

"I'll leave the pranking to you. _I'm_ interrogating Potter."

"How will it be anonymous then, Granger? You're shrill accusations won't be easy to forget."

"I won't be me," Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You can still be recognized. What if he says the wrong thing and you whip out your wand and start cursing him out?" Malfoy smirked.

"I can control myself," Hermione seethed. "And I _don't_ curse that much."

Malfoy only shrugged. He pulled the book closer and started reading the instructions. "We'll need ingredients from Snape's private stores."

"That'll be fine. He basically endorsed it already."

"Oh, really?" Malfoy eyed her, an eyebrow pointing to the sky. _Damnit, I want to do that!_

"Yes. I think," Hermione said. "Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"I _think_ he was telling me not to get caught," Hermione fidgeted. Snape was hard to read sometimes. Most of the time.

"So we'll get no help from him?"

"I don't suppose so."

"Then we have to… liberate some of this from his personal stores. Are you prepared to do that?"

A chance to stop Potter? Put him away for good? "Absolutely."

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

"Absolutely _not_."

"Why?" Hermione sighed.

"This is a _girl's bathroom_!" he cried. "Look at it!"

"Nobody uses it. We'll be fine."

"It's a _girl's bathroom_."

" _You're_ acting like a girl right now, Malfoy. Get over yourself."

Malfoy made a face at her. "What are you going to say to Potter when you get him in your claws, anyway?"

"I'll get him to confess."

"Oh. Okay. Problem solved. You don't even need Polyjuice for that. Just go knock on his door and ask him nicely."

"He will. If his best friend asks him."

"So you're his best friend now?"

"Polyjuice, Malfoy. We can turn ourselves into anyone." Now there was an idea. What would Potter do confronted by _Dumbledore_? _No. Not going to happen. Stop thinking about it_. Getting _Dumbledore_ involved would be a horrendous mistake.

"Who are you thinking?"

"I think I'll turn into a Gryffindor girl."

" _Obviously_."

"Lavender, probably. She won't miss one little hair."

Malfoy snorted.

"What?"

"You think he will spill to that floozy? He may be dense, but Brown's flappy lips can't keep _anything_ secret, and everyone knows it. Even Potter."

"Fine. Not Lavender. Maybe Parvati."

Malfoy made another face. "If it were _me_ , I'd pick one of their chasers."

"Spend a lot of time thinking about turning into a girl, Malfoy?" Hermione smirked.

"They're on the quidditch team with him, Granger. He trusts them. It's logical," he barked back.

"Doesn't hurt that they're rather pretty, does it?" she taunted.

"I'd take _any_ Slytherin girl over them, _any_ day," he shot back.

"Careful, Malfoy," Hermione mocked in a hushed voice. "I heard there's a _mudblood_ girl who wears green."

Malfoy waved her away. "You don't count."

"Oh? Not a girl, am I?"

"You certainly are bitchy enough," he muttered.

"Not a Slytherin?"

"That's not it."

"Not a mudblood, then?"

" _That_ remains to be seen."

"So why don't you want to turn into me? Afraid of the hair?"

Malfoy paused. "Your hair?"

"Don't think you could handle having my hair for an hour?"

"I can see the complications that may arise, yes…" Hermione watched as Malfoy turned away, his cheeks slightly pink. "I suppose this could work. Nobody uses this bathroom?"

"Well, Myrtle does."

"Myrtle?" he asked.

"You called?" wailed a voice from inside a stall. The spectral figure of Moaning Myrtle floated upwards to the ceiling. Malfoy recoiled. "Are you here to make fun of me, too? Well, it goes both ways! If _you_ were any paler I could see through _you_ , too!" She started bawling and dove back down into the stall, her sobs echoing around the room.

"Yes, Myrtle," said Hermione.

"This just gets better and better," Malfoy muttered. "When will it be done?"

"If we start right after break, we could have it finished by the beginning of March."

"Why not start immediately?"

"We have to add lacewings every day for three weeks. We can't do that if we aren't in the castle."

"I'll be here over Christmas break. I'll do it."

Hermione blinked. "You'll do it?"

"Yes. I'm not incompetent, Granger. I can add lacewings to a potion."

"There _are_ other steps."

"Whatever. I'll do it. Just leave me the book. We can get Potter by February if I start it now."

Hermione smiled. Malfoy was hooked. He couldn't resist the bait of a certain Gryffindor. Maybe he wouldn't be as enthusiastic if he knew who he had to change into.

* * *

 **Things are in motion. There's a plot afoot!**

 **(Hmm... that's not supposed to be there...)**


	14. Not Just a Diary

**Chapter 14**

 **Not Just a Diary**

To Hermione's surprise, Malfoy didn't blow up the bathroom or severely cripple the Polyjuice potion over the break. In fact, the potion was nearly perfect. Hermione could have done a better job, obviously, but Malfoy's wasn't half bad. Malfoy himself, though, was back to his old tricks.

"Was muggle-land fun?" were the first words out of his sneering mouth when Hermione found him in the second-floor bathroom stirring the potion.

"Had to start back in right away, did you?"

A loud sniff drifted out of a back stall. "If you want to cry, Hermione, there is always room in my stall. It can be like last year!" Myrtle wailed.

"Like what last year?" Malfoy asked, suddenly interested.

"Shut it, Malfoy."

"Yeah, shut it, Malfoy!" Myrtle echoed, floating through her stall door.

"That ghost is a nightmare…" he breathed. Hermione watched him carefully stir in the lacewing flies.

"That boy is mean," Myrtle whispered directly into Hermione's ear, making her jump a foot into the air.

"Jesus, Myrtle. What'd he do to you?"

"I told her to shut up and mind her own damn business," Malfoy said. "Do you know what it's like to come here every day and listen to her moan on and on about Merlin knows what? It's unbearable."

Myrtle sniffed again and floated back into her stall. "You could be nicer," Hermione commented.

"That just wouldn't be me, would it?" he grinned.

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

 _The_ _ **Severing Charm**_ _(_ Diffindo _) is a utility charm used to precisely cut an object. The spells is relatively simple but useful. Its uses range from cooking, tailoring, decorating, gardening, herbology and potions to amateur duelling. Because the charm doesn't cut very deep, use on other humans usually results in fairly minor, if sometimes painful, injury. The Severing Charm is usually overlooked by experienced duellers in favour of more powerful or more specialized spells, such as the_ _ **Stunning Spell**_ _or the_ _ **Disarming Charm**_ _._

 _The Severing Charm's main function is to cut something relatively thin into the desired size or shape. The larger or stronger the object, the less effective the Severing Charm is. Ideal targets for the Severing Charm include ingredients for potions or meals, chains or ropes, cloth, or thin metals. Its use on living beings is not advised. Only the strongest of Severing Charms may completely slice through the smallest of creatures, making it a rather useless spell in combat._

It had been a while since Hermione had the time or motivation to continue her self-study. Although the book disregarded the Severing Charm's uses in combat, Hermione thought it was too handy a spell to not learn. Besides, the book's author was probably some stuck-up pureblood. Just because it couldn't behead anyone didn't mean it wasn't useful. There was a reason all modern militaries still carried knives. They were useful, and used properly, they could kill just as easily as bullets.

Hermione found an abandoned classroom that still had curtains and began to cut. At first she only tried cutting corners off the curtains, then started experimenting with simple designs, then tested how far back she could stand before her aim was impaired.

Apparently, standing across the room meant cutting the curtain rods was far more likely than when standing next to the windows. As one last test, she cut her name into the curtain.

 **|-| |≡|** _Ԇ_ **|\/| | [ ]** **|\| |**

Her 'R' was a bit rough because she tried to make it curvy, so she made her 'O' anything but circular, but Hermione was proud of it. Perhaps one day someone else would find it. Maybe they would recognize the name. Hermione smiled.

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

"Shit."

The hallway outside Myrtle's bathroom was flooded.

"Fuck."

Hermione hiked up her robes and splashed her way into the bathroom. An inch of water covered the entire floor. Hermione stepped carefully across the darkened room to the corner in which the Polyjuice potion was brewing. She lifted the lid and was greeted with a repugnant smell. _Good_. It wasn't ruined, but the fire under the cauldron had been put out. Hermione jabbed her wand at it and whispered, " _Incendio_." A little flame sprouted up below the cauldron.

Hermione turned towards the sounds of Myrtle wailing. She stomped over to her stall and pushed the door open to find the ghost laying her head on the toilet seat, the rest of her body resting down the pipes. "What the hell, Myrtle? Are you trying to kill me?"

"Oh, it would be nice," the ghost giggled, "If I had someone to haunt the toilets with."

"Why did you flood the bathroom? You could have ruined _months_ of work!"

"What're you going to do, throw something else at me?" Myrtle hissed, rising up out of her toilet to get face to face with Hermione.

"I didn't throw anything at you. Why would anyone throw anything at you?"

"Don't ask me," she pouted. "Here I am…"

 _I don't care_. "What did they throw at you?"

Myrtle glared at her. "It's over there." She pointed towards a sink.

Beneath the sink was a soggy black journal. A diary. A fifty year old diary. Hermione flipped through the damp pages but all of them were blank. On the inside cover was a name she didn't recognize. "T. M. Riddle," Hermione muttered. "Myrtle, do you know anyone named Riddle?" The sniffing and sobbing slowed somewhat. "Myrtle?"

"Yes, I knew a boy named Riddle," she said after a while.

"Who was he? And why is his diary here?"

"I don't know," Myrtle moped. "He was quite handsome, though. He had perfect hair. But he was in Slytherin, so he didn't pay me any attention. Like that blond friend of yours."

"Malfoy isn't my friend," Hermione corrected her.

"Oh, really?" Myrtle cried, sounding overjoyed. "I never had any friends, either!"

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

"Stop it," Malfoy complained when Hermione dropped the soggy book on his table. Crabbe and Goyle edged away from the growing puddle.

"Guess where I found that?"

"I don't know, the lake?"

"No, Myrtle's bathroom."

"So?"

"Someone threw it at her so Myrtle threw a fit and soaked _everything_!"

"Oh. Oh," Malfoy grew concerned. "But… you know…"

"It's fine. Mostly."

"Okay," The concern vanished. "So get that off my table."

"I'm more worried about why someone was in there."

"To throw away their ratty book? Like I'm going to if you don't _get it off_?"

"It's a diary and it belongs to someone named T. M. Riddle."

"She is probably some Hufflepuff who went to cry in the bathroom. Myrtle probably said she looked like hell and she chucked it at Myrtle. You know how that ghost is," Malfoy shrugged.

"Yeah. Maybe. Except Riddle is a boy and in Slytherin."

Malfoy looked at her suspiciously. "No, he's not."

"Yes, he is."

"There is no boy named Riddle in this house."

"Maybe not now, but the diary is fifty years old."

"Is it now?"

"Yes, it is!" Hermione said excitedly.

"Good. So we _know_ its rubbish. Go throw it out," Malfoy waved her away.

"Malfoy. You're not interested in this?"

"An old diary? No, not really."

"But there's no writing in it."

"Really?" Malfoy's face lit up.

"Yes. I was surprised, too, but then I thought –"

Malfoy's face dropped into scorn. "Granger, if I wasn't interested in a fifty year old diary _with_ writing, why would I be interested in a diary _without_ writing?"

Hermione frowned. "I didn't say without writing."

"You said no writing."

"That I can see," she amended. "It must be invisible, somehow. And why would Riddle write in invisible ink?"

"He was a Slytherin boy writing in a diary. That couldn't have gone over well with his roommates…" Malfoy muttered, but Hermione ignored him.

She pulled out her wand from her robes and tapped the diary. " _Aparecium!_ " Nothing happened. Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out a red eraser. "A Revealer," she said, though Malfoy wasn't paying attention, "I got it in Diagon Alley." She rubbed on a page but did nothing but move water around. Hermione deflated. The diary _had_ to have something hidden in it. Why else would it be around fifty years after it was used? She flipped to another page and rubbed furiously. Nothing. Nothing on the next page either. "If this really is fifty years old, then Riddle was at Hogwarts when the Chamber was first opened."

"Mmm…" Malfoy murmured. "So why didn't he write anything?"

"That's what I want to know…"

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

Hermione slowly stirred the Polyjuice potion. It was early February and her little project was almost ready. Only days away. Time to acquire the last ingredients: hair. Hermione's target was simple. She was going to be Parvati on their little escapade. Well, that was who she was going to play. She was _actually_ going to turn into Padma. Hermione could always find her in the library and she had less animosity towards Slytherins. All Hermione needed to do was cast a very quiet severing charm and nick a few hairs from her ponytail and pick them off the floor. She would turn into Padma, an exact copy of Parvati, without the hassle of getting near a Gryffindor.

Malfoy's target was somewhat less simple. In order for this to work, Hermione needed him to turn into someone specific: Weasley. Ronald Weasley. There was no one else, other than Dumbledore, perhaps, Potter would spill his secret to. Getting Weasley's hair was essential. _Hmm… maybe I should get the little Weasley's hair instead of Padma's_ … Hermione thought. A duo of Weasley and Weasley would go down more naturally than Weasley and Patil… but Hermione had no idea how to act as a Weasley. She'd probably over-play it. Get all whiny and pissy ( _would that be overacting_?). No, Padmati would have to do.

Hermione settled down against the wall. It was so close. What if she froze when talking to Potter? What if she gave herself away? He might kill her… And what then? Even if she confirmed he was the Heir, no one would know. Potter would go free.

She frowned and her eyes drifted down to her bag and the little black diary. _A note_. Dumbledore couldn't argue his way out of that. _I tell them what I'm doing and if I die, they will know who did it_. _One final 'fuck you' to Potter after I go out_. Hermione smiled to herself.

Hermione propped the diary up on her lap and took out a quill and ink. On the first page she wrote in large, clear letters:

 _ **Dear Headmaster Dumbledore,**_

 _ **If you are reading this, it means I am dead. But DON'T WORRY, I figured it out, just like I told you. The Heir of Slytherin is** **Harry Potter** **. I brewed a batch of Polyjuice potion to infiltrate the Gryffindor common room and get a confession out of Potter. It must have worked, because he killed me. So don't try to wrangle your way out of this, you useless old twat. Potter killed me. Send the bastard to Azkaban. Don't fuck this up.**_

 _- **Miss Hermione J. Granger (1979-1993), Muggle-Born Witch, Slytherin, Heir-Catcher, Potioneer, Top-of-her-Class, Died from the Ineptitude of the Hogwarts Staff**_

Was that too harsh? _Naw… I'll be dead. Serves them right_. _It's perfect._

But her words slowly sank into the page and disappeared. Hermione flipped to the next page. The message wasn't there. It just disappeared.

A new message wrote itself across the page in thin, spiky letters.

 _ **Hello Miss Hermione J. Granger, Muggle-Born Witch, Slytherin, et al. I do hope you aren't dead yet. I feel like we have a great deal in common, and have so much to discuss.**_

 _ **\- Mister Tom M. Riddle (1926-?), Half-Blood Wizard, Slytherin, Heir-Catcher, Sorcerer, Top-of-his-Class**_

* * *

 **:O**

 **(Uhh... it's exactly what you think will happen)**


	15. Mister Tom M Riddle

**A/N: Short chapter so a bonus chapter.**

 **=Hermione**

 _=Tom_

* * *

 **Chapter 15**

 **Mister Tom M. Riddle**

Hermione stared at the page. The message had long since disappeared. She wouldn't have believed it had appeared, except that her original words had not reappeared. She tapped her quill against the page so that a drop of ink stained the paper. It slowly sunk into the page, leaving no marks at all. That wasn't possible. _Magic_ , a little voice in her head told her. _It's magic_. Of course it was magic. But still... a fifty year old diary doesn't talk back, does it? With a trembling hand, she wrote again.

 **Tom?**

 _It is good to see you still breathe. What can I do for you, Hermione?_

 **What are you?**

 _A diary, Hermione. If you can brew a polyjuice potion, I'm sure you can identify a diary._

 **But you are talking back to me.**

 _I know it can be a bit… disconcerting. But believe me, it is the preferred method of communication._

 **Are you alive? Or is this just a program?**

 _A program…?_

 **You've been designed to respond to anything I write?**

…

 _I suppose that could describe me. More accurately, I am memories. I am sentient. Alive? I'll leave that to you to decide._

 **You can record memories in a diary?**

 _You can put memories in many different forms. This is only one._

 **Why did you put your memories in a diary?**

 _Why did you write your message to Dumbledore? I wanted to be remembered. I wanted to be believed. I knew someone wouldn't want this diary read, so I put my memories in something far sturdier than ink._

Hermione paused. The diary wanted to talk. That was obvious. He was dangling something there in front of her, inviting her to ask. _Maybe he's just lonely. Maybe it's been fifty years and no one has spoken to him_ , said her inner Hufflepuff. The little lioness told her to forge on. _Stop immediately,_ Miss Slytherin was saying. _It was thrown away for a reason. If talking diaries were normal, wouldn't you have heard of them before?_ But her little Ravenclaw was interested in _how_ Tom's memories got in there, so she wrote on. But she wasn't asking about what he wanted her to jump on.

 **You said you were like me.**

…

 _You said you were muggle-born. I was raised in a muggle orphanage. I didn't know about magic until Professor Dumbledore came to speak to me._

 **Professor McGonagall told me.**

 _Ah… Minerva made it back to Hogwarts, then? Transfiguration, I would assume. You know she is an animagus?_

 **Transfiguration, yes.**

 **What's an animagus?**

 _An animagus can transform themselves into an animal for at will. Interesting ability, though I don't particularly see the benefits. Shame she was Gryffindor. So much potential…_

 **So that's what it's called… What about you?**

 _A Slytherin, as I've said. Like you I was sorted into the house most alien to me, yet I was at home. I always thought inside that I had a magical parent. They didn't believe me. Like you, I was seen as the muggle-born invader. But I pushed myself. I eventually found my magical heritage. I pursued my own education, much like yourself._

 **How do you know that?**

…

 _Have times changed so much that they teach the Polyjuice Potion in third year?_

…

 **No...**

 _So, like you, I was an outsider. I fought my way in, but not everyone accepted me into this new world. There was one teacher who never trusted me. Never believed in me._

 **Who?**

 _I think you know._

…

 **Dumbledore?**

 _The one and only. He always favored the Gryffindors. Thought Minerva was a prodigy. I was only a little bit of dirt on his shoe. Top marks didn't matter to him. I was the outcast. The Slytherin. Maybe even the muggle-born. I had my doubts about his… political views. They say he was friends with Grindelwald, you know?_

 **Grindelwald? The dark wizard? Didn't Dumbledore defeat him?**

 _Indeed. He probably knew his every weakness._

 _But Dumbledore never gave me the time of day. He was always suspicious of me. To their credit, the other teachers were always cordial. Is professor Slughorn still teaching?_

 **No, I don't think so.**

 _A shame. He was a brilliant man. A delightful head of house. Who is head of Slytherin nowadays?_

 **Professor Snape. He's decent. When he wants to be.**

 _Snape… Snape… No, he must be after my time… Is he close with Dumbledore?_

 **I can't tell. He hates most people. Snape respects him, I suppose.**

 _Hah. Respect. That's something Dumbledore never gave me._

 **It seems to be an enduring trait for him. He doesn't believe me, either. I keep telling him Potter opened the Chamber of Secrets, but he won't touch his golden child.**

…

 _Yes, Harry Potter... You say he opened the Chamber? How?_

 **I don't know. But he's been found at all of the attacks.**

 _A bit sloppy, don't you think?_

 **He's only twelve. Thinks he's the best thing to happen to the wizarding world.**

 _It's no more than you can expect from him._

…

 **What do you mean?**

…

 _He is a Potter, of the Potters, isn't he?_

 **I don't know. Are they a thing?**

 _They seem to think so… I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised by his age. After all, you tell me you've brewed polyjuice in your third year._

 **Second.**

 _Hmm?_

 **Second year.**

 _Have I don't the math wrong?_

 _1993 - 1979 = 14_

 _Third year…?_

 **It's February. I'm thirteen and a half.**

 _…The half is always important._

Hermione thought she detected a hint of sarcasm in his writing.

 **I was born in September so I'm one of the oldest second years.**

 _Even more impressive. Polyjuice in second year. I don't know if I could have done that… Anyway. You say Potter is the Heir of Slytherin? Are you certain?_

 **Positive.**

 _Does he even speak Parseltongue?_

 **Yes. He revealed himself during the dueling club.**

 _Interesting… How did you do?_

…

 **At the club?**

 _Of course._

 **I beat Potter one on one.**

 _And is he any good at dueling?_

 **Not really.**

 _Still. You beat the Heir of Slytherin._

 **I suppose.**

 _A Gryffindor Heir of Slytherin…_

 **You don't sound like you believe me.**

 _No, it's not that. The funny thing is…_

…

 **What?**

 _Well, in my time, the Heir… he was in Gryffindor as well. Makes you question our house, you know._

…

 **You said you caught him.**

 _I did._

 **Who was it?**

 _I don't like talking about my accomplishments. It can come off as arrogant._

 **Tell me. It might help.**

…

 _It was odd. He was a nice guy. Too nice. Didn't know when monsters started to get dangerous._

 **Who was it?**

 _I caught him. With the monster. He was trying to get it to flee. He so desperately loved that thing…_

 **Who, Tom?**

 _I couldn't let the school shut down, Hermione. I don't want you to think I am cruel or anything. I could have let the beast go. The attacks would have stopped. He was trying to repent. But I… they were going to shut down Hogwarts. I just couldn't, Hermione. Hogwarts was my home. I couldn't go back to that orphanage._

 **Tell me, Tom.**

 _His name was Rubeus Hagrid. They snapped his wand for it. Expelled him._

…

 **Hagrid?**

 _Yes. Have you heard of him?_

 **He's still at Hogwarts… He escorts the first years across the lake every year… He let me practice spells on his chickens.**

…

 _He is dangerous, Hermione. He may not mean it, but that man is seriously careless at best. In the muggle-world he would be called criminally negligent, guilty of manslaughter in the very least. He has a temper, too. Don't ask him about the Chamber. Don't go near him._

…

 _Hermione, promise me you won't go near Rubeus._

* * *

 **Sixteen year old Tom is quite the slippery one.**

 **(Operation Coup de Potter)**


	16. Walking a Mile in Padmati's Shoes

**Chapter 16**

 **Walking a Mile in Padmati's Shoes**

"You alright, Granger?" Malfoy was staring oddly at her.

Hermione looked down at the diary. Tom's words had long since vanished. She slammed the journal shut. Was it true? How could it be true? Why would Dumbledore hire the man who opened the Chamber of Secrets and killed a muggle-born?

"You seen a ghost, Granger?" he peeked over his shoulder, "You know, other than the usual?"

Hermione stuffed Tom's diary into her bag. "I'm fine," she grunted.

"How's the potion?" Malfoy lifted the lid to the cauldron.

"Finishing," said Hermione severely, slapping his hand away. "Leave it be. We should get our final ingredients soon."

"Sure. Who are we getting?"

"I'm getting hair from Padma Patil."

"You know she isn't a Gryffindor, right?" Malfoy sneered.

"I know. But her sister is. Her twin sister. Identical twin sister." Hermione tapped her temple with one finger. "Try to be less dense, Malfoy. I don't intend on getting caught."

"Whatever. Who am I going as? Merlin, I'd play a terrible Longbottom. I suppose I could swing a Finnigan… Well, maybe not the accent."

"You're going as Ronald Weasley," Hermione grinned.

"Not funny, Granger. If I wanted comedy I'd watch Crabbe and Goyle fight over the last cake."

"I'm serious, Malfoy. If we want Potter to spill, you've got to be Weasley. He isn't telling anyone without telling Weasley."

"Absolutely not," Malfoy shook his head.

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

"So what am I supposed to do again?" Malfoy muttered, eyeing the Gryffindors from their spot on the Slytherin bench.

"Just get some of Weasley's hair, slip him this scone, and get out," Hermione replied calmly.

"What's with the scone?"

"I've filled it with a special indigestion potion."

"Indigestion?"

"Well… to put it simply, he will vomit all night."

Malfoy made a face. "Disgusting."

"It needed to be done. Can't have two Ronalds walking around, can we?"

"And you've already got yours?"

Hermione produced a sprig of shiny black hair. "Took it off her this afternoon."

"And how do we keep it so there aren't two… or _three_ of _you_ walking around?"

"Already taken care of. Every Friday night Padma drags Parvati down to the library to make sure she gets her homework finished over the weekend."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I'm usually there, too."

Malfoy shook his head. "How are you sure he'll eat the thing?"

"Weasley always eats whatever's on his plate."

"How do you know?"

"Have you ever _seen_ him eat? He's a pig."

"Fine. _Fine_. Oi, Crabbe, Goyle, let's go." Malfoy stood and tucked the scone into his robe sleeve.

Hermione watched them cross the Great Hall and zone in on their prey. She heard some quidditch insults slung, then some house-related jokes. Malfoy reached over Weasley to his plate. _Don't be so obvious,_ Hermione cursed. Maybe trusting Malfoy to do his job wasn't such a great idea. But then Malfoy jumped back to avoid a flying Weasley fist, and chewed on a newly acquired scone. _Perhaps Malfoy isn't such a bad magician…_

Malfoy said something again, nodding at the little Weasley tyke and Ronald jumped out of his seat. Crabbe and Goyle grabbed him and shoved him back down, but not before Malfoy ruffled that flustered red head. The three Slytherins quickly backed away from an advancing McGonagall and returned to their own table. "Wasn't so bad," Malfoy said through the remains of the un-poisoned scone, waving a thin red hair. "Weasley is still an idiot."

Some minutes later, Weasley bolted from the Great Hall, covering his mouth.

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

"You sure this will work?" Malfoy was staring at the brown, bubbly concoction in his glass.

"Certain." Hermione had her own doubts about her drink, but she plopped the hairs in and stirred. The liquid brightened to a soft caramel color, but the smell turned to something hot. Black pepper? _This started well…_ Hermione was not a fan of spicy food.

Malfoy dropped his hair and his drink turned a sickly dark pink and he recoiled. "Disgusting."

"Cheers," Hermione said, halfheartedly, downing hers down in one gulp. Malfoy took several tries.

Something in her stomach lurched. And again. She thought she had an alien inside of her, ready to burst its way out of her. Her heart beat started to race. Hermione clawed at her chest, her stomach, her throat. Her rib-cage squeezed and squeezed, threatening to pop her lungs. Her skin began to burn and melt. She couldn't breathe.

Hermione fell to the floor.

As if drops of ink were falling from the sky, spots on her arm began to darken. They spread every second until her entire arm was a soft brown. Her hair began to pull on her scalp little by little.

And then it stopped.

Hermione sucked in air with desperation. She could breathe again. Hermione looked up. Malfoy, similarly, was seizing on the ground, coughing up a bit of the polyjuice potion. Except it wasn't Malfoy. His slick blond hair was replaced by a bright red mop. His pointed, aristocratic face was replaced by the squat mug of Ronald Weasley.

Hermione shakily stood. "We shou –" That wasn't her voice. "We should –" That wasn't right, either. Hermione put a hand to her throat and looked in the mirror. She recognized this girl, but she wasn't Hermione.

"Does Patil have a stutter?" Malfoy said in Weasley's whiny voice.

"No," Hermione managed. This wasn't right. It wasn't natural. When she moved her hand, Padma moved hers. When she spoke, Padma spoke. "This is… perverted."

"You're telling _me_?" Weasley said next to her, staring into the mirror and poking his face.

"We should…" Hermione coughed. It didn't help. "We should get going."

"Yeah…" Malfoy muttered, still poking himself.

"Here," Hermione said, transfiguring his Slytherin badge into a passable Gryffindor emblem. She did the same to hers. Hermione grabbed his green tie and said, " _Colovaria_!"

The green stripes melted into red. "Hmm," he grumbled, examining his tie. Hermione repeated the operation on her own tie.

"Time to go," Hermione pushed through her new vocal cords. She peeked out into the hall. Empty.

The pair of newly made Gryffindors made their way towards the central staircase and upwards. "Have you, uh, found the common room yet?" Malfoy mumbled.

Hermione blinked. _Shit._ "We'll improvise."

"Improvise?" Malfoy suddenly stopped in the middle of the staircase. "Improvise? What happened to your _plan_? We've had months, and _improvise_ is the best you've got?"

"Last time I started looking you stopped me," Hermione countered.

Malfoy put a hand to his face. "You're insane, you know that?"

"This could all have been avoided –"

"Ron!" Hermione stopped mid-sentence, swiveling her head. At the top of the staircase stood Hermione's Most Wanted, Number One: Harry Potter, the Heir of Slytherin.

He didn't look all that impressive close up. Messy black hair, glasses. A small boy. Hermione was taller than him. Parvati - _Padma_ \- was taller than him.

"Ron, you okay, mate?" Potter took the steps two at a time and put his hand on Malfoy's shoulder. "I've been looking all over for you."

"Uh… yeah… I had to run to the bathroom…" he mumbled. "Come on, let's get back to the common room."

Potter and Malfoy walked ahead of Hermione. Malfoy was improvising well, after all. _I don't know what his problem was…_ He was asking Potter about the quidditch game in the morning. The Gryffindor common room was hidden behind a portrait of an extremely fat lady with an attitude to match her size. Potter got them in with the password and selected an underpopulated corner of the common room.

The wooden furnishings, red cushions and pillows, and a raging fireplace made the Gryffindor common room much… _warmer_ than the dungeons. When they all took their seats, Potter gave Hermione a surprised look, like he hadn't noticed her presence before. "Oh, yeah…" Malfoy began, "I was talking to Pa –" He paused. _Don't you_ fucking _dare forget her name._ "I was talking to Parvati…" Hermione sighed ever so slightly. _Stick to the script_. "And, you know, Harry, she's on your side."

"My side?" Potter asked.

"Yeah, well… she was saying, you know, in India, Parseltongue isn't such a bad thing."

Hermione nodded. "Revered, more like," she added.

"Huh…"

"So, I was thinking… you know, we can bring her in."

"Bring her in?"

"Yeah. You can tell her what you told me." Potter started. Malfoy had jumped the gun. "Look, Harry, you can't go seven years in this place with nobody by your side. You need allies."

"I've got _allies,_ " Potter pouted.

"Anyone not named Weasley, or on the quidditch team?" Malfoy countered.

Potter was silent.

"Come on, mate."

"No, Ron," Potter shook his head. "I don't think so."

Malfoy sighed. "Okay, mate. Dumbledore will eventually find out, though."

"If he hasn't found out yet…" Potter mumbled.

"He's a crafty little –" Something caught in Malfoy's throat. He started again. "I have to find a bathroom," he blurted before rushing up some stairs. A second later he was sliding down and an alarm was sounding.

"Wrong stairs, Ron!" Potter shouted as the common room erupted in laughter. Malfoy only gave a thumb's up and dashed up the other stairs. _That boy can act_ , Hermione thought.

Now it was just Potter and her. He was doing best to ignore her. Or he had already forgotten she was there.

"So… you really are the Heir?"

Potter's head snapped around. "No, I'm not."

"Well, Lavender said –"

"I don't care what Lavender said," Potter spat. "I am _not_ the Heir."

"It's okay if you are. I won't tell –"

Potter stood, a look of fury in his eyes. "I am _not_ the Heir."

"But you said Dumbledore would find out –"

"I wasn't talking about that. You go to Lavender and tell she's _wrong_."

Hermione stared into those bright green eyes. A horrible feeling entered her heart. Something deep, terrifying, and new.

Hermione believed Potter.

This wasn't a boy trying to hide a secret. It was a boy being judged. Being punished for something he had no control over.

 _Shit_.

Hermione was silent for a moment. "Okay. I believe you."

"Good," Potter said, sitting down.

"So what are you hiding from Dumbledore?" she asked quietly.

"Nothing," Potter replied immediately.

"Ron's right, Harry," she said carefully. "Dumbledore will eventually find out."

Potter eyed her. "Doesn't mean everyone else needs to."

"If you aren't the one offing muggle-borns, it can't be too bad."

"I don't know… Did you see how Granger was looking at me? At the dueling club?" Hermione's hairs stood up on her neck. She'd never been talk to about herself behind her own back. "She looked like she just watched me murder her parents…"

"Well, that's the Heir business, isn't it?" Hermione defended herself. "Think about it. A muggle-born _in_ Slytherin while the Heir of _Slytherin_ is after muggle-borns. And you just spoke Parseltongue."

Potter shrugged. "I was only trying to stop it from attacking Justin…"

Hermione hesitated. "But you can see how people could see it differently?"

"Maybe if it _actually_ bit him. But I stopped it."

"So if it isn't about the Chamber, what is it?"

Potter was silent for a minute, then looked at her with those green eyes. "Are some wizards psychic?"

Hermione thought about it. Magic was still surprising her, even after two years after learning about its existence. Tom's diary was just them most recent example. But psychic? That was a stretch, surely? A talking diary was a stretch before she found one. And Dumbledore was certainly creepy enough. "Jeez, Harry, I don't know…" Potter nodded slightly. "Why, is someone in your head? "

"No," he said emphatically.

"Do you think you are listening to people's thoughts or something?"

"No…" he trailed off.

At that moment the Weasley/Malfoy abomination returned, looking quite pleased with himself. "How're things going?"

"Fine," Hermione answered for both of them.

"I'm telling you, Harry, we can trust her."

"We've already been over it," Hermione interrupted.

"Parvati has learned that Lavender isn't always right," Potter said, not without an edge of bitterness.

"Oh, excellent. Now there's this charm's essay due on Monday," Malfoy began, grinning. "So I think we should play a game of wizard's chess. I'll go –" He stopped, clasped a hand to his mouth and gurgled. " _Merlin_ , not again!" he stood hastily and dashed towards the portal.

"Ron, the room is the other way!" Potter shouted.

"Oh, you don't want this all over your bed!" Malfoy shouted back, pushing his way through some Gryffindor first years and tumbling out of the portrait hole.

"Must have been something he ate…" Hermione muttered. It was just like Malfoy to bolt immediately after mission accomplished. They could have stayed for longer. It wasn't every day they got to live as Gryffindors. There was so much to learn.

When she turned back, Potter was buried deep in his charms book. Evidently he didn't share Weasley's aversion to school work. Or at least, Malfoy/Weasley's. "Alright then, see you, Harry. I'll go tell off Lavender."

"Yeah, please do," Potter looked up. Hermione noticed a little crack in his glasses, right on the bottom of the right lens.

"Hold on, Harry, you're glasses are broken." Hermione took out her trusty aspen wand. "I'll get it for you. _Oculus Reparo!"_ With a snap and fizz, his glasses were good as new.

"Thanks, Parvati," he said, taking the glasses off to inspect them from a better view. "Must've been chipped in quidditch practice."

"Well, good luck in the game. Wipe the floor with Malfoy."

"We're playing Ravenclaw."

"Oh, well, wipe the floor with him next year."

Potter grinned. "Will do."

Hermione debated leaving immediately, but decided to take a look in the dorms. _Malfoy got to, so why not_? Hermione climbed the stairs and found the second year room. It was circular and the beds were basically the same, except they had red everything instead of green everything.

"I thought you were imprisoned by Padma tonight?"

Hermione froze. Lavender Brown was laying on her bed, reading some sort of magazine. _Witch Weekly_? Probably. But now the blonde girl was staring at her inquisitively. Perhaps a little oversight on her part. If Hermione could nail down Parvati's schedule then her best friend could too.

"Oh, yeah…" Hermione mumbled, "I sort of… forgot a book…"

Lavender grinned. "Yeah, _forgot_. Padma wouldn't let you get away that easily, though."

"Definitely not," Hermione smiled back. "But it was worth a try." She walked over to Parvati's bed, marked by the moving picture of the twins at the center of a large family, and shuffled through a stack of journals on the desk.

"So is that Hufflepuff boy there tonight?"

"Oh…" _Hufflepuff boy?_ That could be anyone... "No. I haven't seen him yet."

"Aww… I bet studying is easier when you have something pretty to look at," Lavender giggled.

Hermione nodded her assent, selected a blank notebook so Parvati wouldn't notice and quickly retreated from the room, waving goodbye to Lavender.

She took the stairs two at a time, dashed through the common room and out the portrait hole, holding her breath the whole time. No one stopped her, though. She hurried down to the Great Hall and veered off towards the dungeons.

But she couldn't go back to the common room looking like Parvati. That would be suspicious. No, Hermione had time to kill. Circling around the ground level, Hermione thought of what to do. She could always go to the library. No one would bother her there and she could get her readings done. Except the real Parvati was there. That would be awkward.

It was too late to go on a walk outside.

Dinner was over, so the Great Hall was out.

Besides roaming the corridors - something Filch would not take kindly to - Hermione could only think of one place to go.

The second floor bathroom was empty as always. Except from some gurgles from Myrtle. Hermione walked to the corner and began to disassemble her brewing station.

Halfway through washing out her cauldron Hermione heard a heavy heaving sound from the stalls. And again. Followed by a whimper.

 _That wasn't Myrtle_.

Hermione carefully placed the cauldron down on the floor and pulled out her wand. Step by step, she advanced towards the sound. Slowly, Hermione pushed the stall door in. Sprawled on the floor, head propped up on the toilet seat, was Ronald Weasley.

Every few seconds his body was hit by a spasm, trying to expel contents from an empty stomach, resulting in an awful wheeze and a cry from the redhead boy.

 _Maybe I overdid it…_

A light flutter of guilt crossed her heart. She certainly hadn't _meant_ Weasley to be affected this badly. Just something to keep him out of her way.

 _But it_ is _Weasley_ , she said to herself. _He's done worse to me._

Hermione considered leaving him there. But this was _her_ bathroom. He might see the cauldron and start asking questions. Hell, Myrtle might let slip. And Weasley wouldn't hesitate to blab to Dumbledore.

No, he couldn't stay.

"Weasley," Hermione said sternly, "Ronald, get up."

He tried to turn around. "Parvati?" he said in a hushed voice. "What're you doing in here? This is a –" Weasley shook and coughed violently. "– a _boy's_ bathroom!"

"No, Ronald, this is a _girl's_ bathroom. Why are _you_ in here?"

"Hospital wing," he managed after another wheeze.

Hermione watched the boy shake on the ground with a mixture of pity and annoyance. He was befouling _her_ bathroom. "Get up, Ronald."

"I can't!" he cried, clinging to the toilet bowl.

"Yes, you can." Hermione grabbed him by the back of his robe and heaved him up onto his feet.

"No, no, no!" he whimpered, trying to fall back down to the floor with another gag.

"Nothing is coming out, Ronald. Get moving." Hermione wrapped her arm around him and steered him out of the bathroom. She'd drop him off with the first Gryffindor she found. Or Hufflepuff. Hermione wouldn't be picky.

They shuffled along the corridor, halting every few moments for Weasley to splutter something incoherent and cough up nothing but air. Hermione saw no one else in the corridors, though, so she had to half-carry Weasley all the way to the hospital wing herself.

 _Charma?_ Hermione wasn't convinced.

"What is all this?" Madam Pomfrey asked sternly when she saw them limping in.

Hermione shrugged, "Found him in a girl's bathroom, ma'am. I don't think he got back from dinner."

Pomfrey helped direct Weasley to a bed. "Doesn't look too bad. Nothing's coming out."

"Nothing left," mumbled Weasley through a gurgle.

"Hmph," Pomfrey grunted, waving her wand about. "It's not serious. Something to calm your stomach, I think." She hurried to a nearby cabinet and took out a jar of colored potion, measuring it carefully into a smaller cup. "You'd best be getting back to your dormitory, Miss Patil. Curfew starts soon." Hermione nodded, but before she could leave she spotted two lumps in other beds.

The stone still forms of Justin and that Creevy boy.

The Heir was still out there, and it wasn't Potter.

Hermione gulped. She couldn't even ask Pomfrey to take her back to the dorms. She thought Hermione was Parvati. _I am_ not _afraid_ , she screamed at the voice of Snape that popped up in her mind. _I am a Slytherin. I have a plan_.

That plan was to sprint as fast as she could down to the dungeons.

She ignored shouts from ghosts and the odd prefect to reach the Slytherin dorms in record time. Hermione pulled her hair in front of her face. Soft brown and uncontrollably frizzy. She was herself again. She hadn't even noticed. " _Finite_ ," Hermione waved her wand over her robes to revert everything to proper Slytherin order. " _Victoria_." The blank wall began to separate and Hermione hurried in.

Malfoy was already back. He sat in a circle of quidditch players laughing about something. Pansy was teetering on a nearby couch, trying to listen in. _Pathetic_. Hermione, however, knew better than to barge in and scold him for running off. Instead, she made her way back to her room. It was empty. Just the way she liked it.

Hermione settled on her bed and took out Tom's diary. She hadn't written in it since Tom had revealed Hagrid set the monster on the school last time. Now was good a time as any to get some things cleared up.

 **Tom?**

 _You haven't been talking to Rubeus, have you?_

* * *

 **Two chapters more and then we are on to the final straightaway.**

 **(Back to the book?)**


	17. Tom's Advice

**A/N: This is the last short chapter. 30% (~17k) of the total words will be jammed into 20% (5) of the total chapters, then we have a 2k word goodbye chapter. Enjoy some light reading before Hermione's "light reading".**

* * *

 **Chapter 17**

 **Tom's Advice**

* * *

 **No, Tom, I've been investigating Potter.**

 _Ah. So it's good news that you're still alive, then?_

 **Perhaps. Potter isn't the Heir.**

…

 _But you said he spoke Parseltongue._

 **He does. But he said he wasn't, and I believed him.**

 _People lie, Hermione. Even Gryffindors. Especially Gryffindors with their honor on the line. Have you tried the Cruciatus on him?_

 **He wasn't lying. I saw it in his eyes.**

…

 _Are you a Legilimens, Hermione?_

 **What's that?**

 _A rare branch of magic. I'm not surprised you don't know its name. I myself didn't learn until a few years ago._

 **What does it do?**

 _It allows you to… read people minds, so to speak._

…

 **So some wizards** ** _are_** **psychic?**

 _Nothing so… simple. It takes a great deal of effort and concentration. And there are ways of fighting it. Did you look into Potter's mind?_

 **No. I… I just believed him.**

 _Hermione, you can't just let him go on a gut feeling. The evidence is against him._

 **I know… But I think he feels like I feel. Labeled and shoved into a category just because people can't get past the surface. You know about that too, don't you?**

…

 _He could be faking it. To fool you._

 **He isn't that insightful, Tom.**

 _If he can speak Parseltongue, I wouldn't underestimate him. Who knows what else he could do…_

 **Survive the killing curse, as far as I can tell.**

…

 _The killing curse?_

 **Yes. He was almost killed as a baby, or so the story goes. Bounced right back at the dark wizard.**

 _No one can block the killing curse, Hermione. It's impossible._

 **But he's alive, isn't he?**

 _Were there any witnesses?_

 **No, but everyone is certain. This dark wizard was known for killing everybody with the killing curse. He wouldn't change that for a baby.**

 _It's still not possible. No one can block the killing curse. Not me, not you, not Dumbledore, and certainly not a child who cannot yet speak._

 **I don't know what to say, Tom. It doesn't make sense to me, either, but here he is, with nothing but a little scar on his forehead.**

…

 _Most interesting. He defeated a dark wizard as a baby. Speaks Parseltongue. I don't understand how he isn't the Heir._

 **I don't know, but the Heir** ** _is_** **still out there. And I have no idea who it is.**

 _All you can do is be prepared._

 **How? Hogwarts doesn't exactly teach you how to defend yourself against Slytherin's monster.**

 _I can teach you. Or, at least, point you in the right direction._

 **Would you?**

 _Certainly. What kind of spells do you know already?_

 **Since the start of the year, I've learned the Shielding Charm, the Body-Bind Curse, Freezing Charm, Disarming Charm and Severing Charm.**

 _Impressive. But you don't have much in the way of offensive spells. The most damage you can do is a little cut._

 **In the right place, a little cut is all I need.**

 _True. Very true. But in the heat of the moment, do you think you can hit that right place? Time after time?_

 **Maybe.**

 _You should learn more… comprehensive spells._

 **What do you have in mind?**

 _I have several ideas. Some may be above your level for some time, but I believe with research and practice you will be able to master all of them. Do you have something more lasting to write in?_

Hermione looked over at her desk. Most of the notebooks there were already being used for classes. Maybe there was something in her trunk. As she hopped off her bed she felt something bump into her from inside her robes. Parvati's notebook. Empty, and ready to record. Hermione dabbed more ink onto her quill and sat down at her desk.

 **Ready.**

 _There's_ Confringo _, the Blasting Curse. Note: Heat explosion._

Expulso _. Note: Pressure explosion._

Bombarda _. Note: Localized pressure explosion._

Reducto _. Note: Blasts objects apart. Effects on organic matter vary._

 _All of these can be used in a tight situation with little need for careful aiming. For a one-on-one duel with an opponent you mean to capture, I would recommend:_

Stupify _. Note: Renders target unconscious._

Incarcerous _. Note: Binds target will conjured ropes._

 _If you wish to interrogate a prisoner, I have a few ideas as well._

 _In a pinch I would suggest the Cruciatus Curse, though some people might object._

 _If you have time, brewing Veritaserum would be ideal. It is a complex potion but you shouldn't have much trouble._

Hermione scribbled furiously to keep up. _Veritaserum._

 **Thanks, Tom.**

 _Happy to help. Be careful around Potter, Hermione. I still don't trust him._

* * *

 **Slippery Tom... Don't be corrupting young Hermione like that!**

 **(Quidditch... who needs it?)**


	18. Wizards and their Quidditch

**A/N: I've been pumping myself up to finish year 3 for a few days now and with finals out of the way, I should be putting the finishing touches on in the next week or so. It's taking all of my control not to spew out the rest of year 2 right now. I need time to take a comprehensive look at where i want to go in the later years in order to write a worthy year 4. But fear not, MMIII may be be airing as soon as April (if not sooner!).**

* * *

 **Chapter 18**

 **Wizards and their Quidditch**

Lockhart got it into his head that the school needed cheering up. He also thought that ugly dwarves shouting Valentines would cheer people up. Hermione, however, was soon won over. Not that she received any. No, Hermione was enjoying watching the shocked and horrified faces of people as they were forcibly sung to by scraggly dwarves.

Their latest target was one Harry Potter, ex-suspect in the Heir of Slytherin case. He was fair game now and Hermione so desperately wanted to see him cringe.

A dwarf was kicking his way through the crowd, calling Potter's name. The Gryffindor didn't much like that and he turned to tried to flee. _We can't have that_. " _Diffindo!_ " Hermione muttered, slashing carefully to only hit Potter's bag.

She couldn't help a grin as she watched Potter's books get soaked in his favorite Gryffindor Red. "What's going on here?" Malfoy called out, smirking at the scene.

"What's all this commotion?" the eldest Weasley asked pompously.

Potter made a run for it. The dwarf was quicker. The little guy hugged him around the knees, bringing Potter down in a heavy crash. "Right, here is your singing valentine," the dwarf said, clearing his throat.

Hermione shoved her hand into her bag to pull out Tom's diary. He'd want to hear this.

 _"His eyes are green as a fresh pickled toad,_

 _His hair is as dark as a blackboard._

 _I wish he was mine, he's really divine,_

 _The hero who conquered the Dark Lord"_

Hermione joined the raucous laughter at Potter's expense. "'The hero who conquered the Dark Lord...'" she giggled, scratching in the last words of the song.

"Oi, don't you have somewhere better to be?" Ronald Weasley shouted from behind her, elbowing his way roughly past Hermione. Tom's diary flipped out of her hands and into the growing red puddle.

"Watch it, Weasley," she said, bending over to retrieve the little book.

"What's this? Granger has a diary?" Weasley laughed, snatching the diary from her fingertips. "She's probably written 'Mrs. Hermione Malfoy' all over with little hearts!"

Hermione's wand was in her hand before Weasley's mouth was shut. " _Bombarda!_ " she shouted at the same time as Malfoy said, " _Expelliarmus!_ "

A loud crack echoed around the corridor. The diary flew into the air; Weasley grabbed for his nose and toppled over.

Malfoy reached out and caught the diary.

"Granger! Malfoy!" the shaky voice of Percy Weasley cried. "Attacking a fellow student? I'll have to give detentions!" One Weasley leaned over another. Blood was flowing freely from his misshapen nose.

"I was only defending my property, Mister Weasley," Hermione said flatly. "Maybe you should train your brother to be more polite."

Malfoy inspected the little black book. "You've still got this old thing?"

Hermione seized the diary from Malfoy. It had almost absorbed all of the ink spilled on it. She stepped over the splayed legs of Ronald and found herself face to face with an ashen Ginerva Weasley. Her eyes flicked from Hermione to the diary to Potter. Hermione looked over at the dark haired boy, who was helping Percival with Ronald. "I don't think Potter liked your valentine much," she growled at the younger girl, who squealed and took off.

Malfoy was watching Hermione with a little smile, but dropped it when he saw her eyes on him. "Better get to Transfiguration," he said gruffly, pushing past her. "I don't think McGonagall will be too pleased if we're late because of this." Hermione followed. "What was that spell?"

"Oh..." Hermione looked down at the diary. "Just something I read about. I wasn't sure what it would do, exactly. But it's good to know it works."

McGonagall grimaced when they showed up tardy. "A little over excited with the valentines festivities, were we?"

"It wasn't our fault, Professor," Malfoy said, a bit flushed. "Potter split his bag and blocked the whole corridor. We couldn't get by."

Hermione pursed her lips. "If anyone is to blame, it's Professor Lockhart, ma'am. His dwarves are causing more trouble than they're worth."

The stern woman looked them over for a moment. "I won't take any points this time. Next time, however, will be different." She jerked her hand at an empty table. Hermione and Malfoy took their seats.

Professor McGonagall began her lesson. Hermione tried to take extensive notes on her lecture, but, as usual, Malfoy was only half paying attention. In the middle of McGonagall's speech, Malfoy slid a note over to her.

 _His eyes are green as a fresh pickled toad_

Hermione snorted. A few heads turned to her but McGonagall didn't notice. She wrote a line below:

 _His hair is as dark as a blackboard_

She could see his smirk widen.

 _I wish he was mine, he's really divine_

Hermione quickly penned in the last line.

 _The hero who conquered the Dark Lord❣_

And then:

 _New Quidditch song?_

Malfoy coughed heavily when he received her note. McGonagall glared but didn't say anything.

The bell rung and the class jumped to leave. Dinner was fast approaching. Malfoy was grinning. "I think it could work. It might even make Potter fall off his broom."

"That must have been embarrassing for him," Hermione said ruefully. "Too bad Weasley took the limelight off Potter."

"He can't resist attention. Even if it is from his twat of a brother."

"Don't get in on Percival. At least he is succeeding academically," Hermione huffed.

"You're defending a Weasley?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

"He's got _twelve_ OWLs," Hermione countered. "And _you_ defended Potter."

The Slytherin second years entered the Great Hall en masse. "I was right, wasn't I?" Malfoy bristled. "And OWLs aren't everything. Speaking of, what are you signing up for?" Malfoy dropped his bag on the floor and took his seat, Hermione sitting next to him.

"Signing up for?"

"Electives. We have to choose two extra classes for the next three years. Personally, I'd rather drop some classes."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "You do _less_ work? I thought Slytherin was the house of ambition."

"And _I_ thought," Malfoy smirked, "Slytherin was the house of blood purity." Hermione frowned. Malfoy had stopped talk like that in her presence lately. This relapse was not appreciated. "Oh, come off it, Granger," he laughed. "I'm kidding. Sort of."

Hermione glared at him. "Sort of?"

"To be honest, I'm wondering if you've got some magical blood in there."

"How would that work?" her frown deepened.

"Well, you see… Squibs are known to fraternize with muggles."

"So? Don't a lot of wizards interact with muggles? There are billions of them."

"Squibs aren't really wanted in the wizarding world. They fit in better with muggles. Interbreed. So, a pureblood squib a generation or two up from you would make you a half-blood."

That was an interesting prospect. Latent magical heritage… People had thought Tom was a Muggle-born… All Hermione had to do to be sure was cross-reference her family tree with a directory of magical families. It wouldn't be too hard. Maybe a summer project?

 _Don't get your hopes up_ , she told herself. "I don't know, Malfoy. Seems unlikely."

Malfoy shrugged. "Statistically, perhaps. But you're not a normal – muggle-born."

"What's that mean?"

"It means you were sorted into Slytherin for a reason."

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

"You've signed up for _every_ elective…" Snape said, eyeing Hermione from behind his desk.

"Yes, sir," Hermione confirmed. Every time she tried to select two courses she felt like she was going to miss out on something in another. So, to make sure she didn't regret anything, Hermione signed up for all of them. Apparently Professor Snape took exception to that.

"Are you daft?" he asked after a minute of staring her down.

"I want to take them all."

"No, you don't," Snape said. "You'll waste years of your life on subjects you will take nothing from."

"I want to do it, Professor!" Hermione complained. "I'm interested in all of them!"

"You want to learn about muggles from a witch who has barely spoken a sentence to one in the last decade?"

"I…" Hermione swayed in her chair, "A different opinion might shed new light on things…" she said weakly.

"You want to read the future with a fraud?"

"Maybe I do."

"Miss Granger, you have talent, there is no doubt. You will be wasting it with these inane subjects."

"Weasley took twelve OWLs," Hermione scowled. She couldn't let a _Weasley_ show her up.

"Percy Weasley is destined to become a glorified Ministry pencil-pusher. Is that your dream job, Miss Granger? I was under the impression you had higher aspirations." Snape folded his hands together, resting his chin on his white knuckles. "You are Slytherin, after all."

"I guess…" she sulked.

"What career do you see _Muggle Studies_ being useful in?"

"Politics…" she said meekly.

"An OWL is not necessary for anyone seeking political office - and you are already qualified to sit the exam anyway, I would think. You could write the exam, even. Are you intent on becoming a seer?"

"No…"

"Then why do you want to study… _Divination_?"

"It sounded interesting…"

A deep rumble emanated from Snape's throat. He dipped a quill in ink with an exaggerated motion. "You already know about muggle society," he made a violent slash across the parchment. "Divination is hokum," he slashed again. "You don't seem like an outdoors type. No need for Creatures…" One final slash. "You will sate yourself with Ancient Runes and Arithmancy."

"Sir! That's not fair! You haven't changed anyone else's schedule!"

"No one else is senseless enough to select every course. The workload by itself makes it an irrational notion."

"I can do it! I know I can. Does anyone have better marks than me?" Hermione challenged him.

"Marks have nothing to do with this. The very idea of taking twelve OWL credits baffles the mind. No, you will take nine, like everyone else."

Hermione frowned. "I'm not everyone else."

"Yes, I think we are all _quite_ aware of that, Miss Granger. Which reminds me: You and Mister Malfoy will be serving detention with me in the potions lab this weekend."

"For what?" she cried.

"Your stunt with Mister Weasley. For however impressive the spell-work was, your blatant attack on another student must be punished," Snape spread his hands wide and said the last bit in an odd tone, like he was quoting someone else.

"He started it…" she muttered.

"No doubt," Snape grumbled. "Very well. We are finished here. Bring Mister Malfoy to the lab Saturday afternoon, around three."

"What are we doing?"

"That depends on your attitude."

Hermione glowered, but couldn't help one last plead. "I know I can do more. Just give me… ten OWLs, Professor. I know I can handle that without losing focus."

"No, I don't think so," Snape replied. Hermione stood in a huff, but Snape continued. " _Sit_. No, you will not take any more classes. _However_ ," Hermione perked up in the chair. "Since you have shown such… devotion to academic pursuits, I have decided that you shall head your own class."

Hermione perked up. "Teach a class?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Like, a real class?"

"Of course not, Granger," Snape sighed. "You will be responsible for keeping the younger Slytherins on track. Focused. Up to date."

Hermione slumped back down in her chair. "I'll be a glorified tutor."

"No. You will _be_ a tutor."

"I don't do well tutoring."

"Why?"

"People are too slow."

"Life is full of slow people. Learn to deal with it."

"I don't know if that would be a good use of my time."

"I disagree."

"What do I get out of it?"

Snape scowled. "Perhaps, in time, you will understand."

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

With the rest of the school preparing for the quidditch match, Hermione was in the library. With all the time she had devoted to brewing polyjuice and fretting about the Heir, Hermione had slipped in her study habits. Regardless of Malfoy's insistence on getting an 'O', he was hardly a dedicated student. And he was a fan of quidditch. So Hermione was alone in the library with a few other students. None of the other Slytherins would be caught near her without Malfoy around to say it was okay. Pansy hated her, and she hated Pansy right back. Crabbe, Goyle and Hermione maintained an indifferent revulsion towards each other. Daphne and Tracey were always together and hardly ever with anyone else. And Nott, well, there were times when Hermione wondered if he even comprehended her existence.

Nevertheless, Hermione enjoyed her time alone. In addition to her school books she could look up some of Tom's spells without having to explain herself to anyone. The Blasting and Expulso curses turned out to be rather volatile, so Hermione decided to stick with _Bombarda_ for a while. It seemed to work fine on Weasley. Hermione set out Tom's diary, in case she needed another reference, and began reading about the next spells on his list.

The Stunning spell seemed a very useful tool. Hermione wouldn't have to poison anyone to get them out of her way for a bit. A lot cleaner, too. But Hermione couldn't find much on _Incarcerous_ in any of her books. It could be that because it conjured the ropes, it was a higher level spell. Maybe even NEWT level. Hermione only had books up to fifth year, and didn't know exactly where to look for them.

Sighing, Hermione left her table to go find Madam Pince. Hermione hated asking that witch for anything. She always thought Hermione was up to something. To be fair, she thought everyone was up to something. Sometimes she was right.

Hermione looked at the front desk, but the librarian wasn't there. She walked back into the bookshelves. The little Weasley brat was sitting there, nervously shaking her leg as she pushed her face into a book. _Probably afraid she's going to fail out of Hogwarts_ , Hermione smiled to herself. _Who's kidding? She's probably afraid she'll miss her boyfriend's quidditch game._

Hermione spotted Pince at a back table, picking up books and putting them into a small cart. "Excuse me, Madam Pince?" Hermione tried to sound pleasant. "Where can I find NEWT level spellbooks?"

The severe woman turned on her, raven-eyes locking on with a piercing stare. "NEWT level?" she snapped.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm doing research…" Hermione said slowly. "Professor Snape said I should look into different fields before I choose my electives…"

Pince narrowed her eyes, but pointed to a shelf on the far wall. Hermione gratefully left her presence. She picked out choice Charms and DADA books and lugged the tomes back to her table and began searching. Little by little, the already sparsely populated library emptied as it neared game time. _Wizards and their quidditch_ , Hermione mused. After what seemed like hours of wading through each book, she found nothing. Sighing, Hermione looked back at her list. _Incarcerous. Note: Binds target with conjured ropes._

Conjured… conjured. That wasn't Charms, was it? It'd have to be… Transfiguration?

Hermione returned to the shelf. It didn't take her long to find Transfiguration books for years six and seven. Once back at her table, Hermione found the conjuration section easily, and _Incarcerous_ soon after. _A spell that binds a person with conjured ropes_. Tom was spot on with his description. The book said conjuration was a skill only for advanced wizards. Was Hermione advanced? Quite possibly. Though quite possibly not.

She was distracted for a moment when Dean Thomas burst into the library and made a beeline for a particular shelf. Hermione looked around the library. It was only herself and Penelope Clearwater still remaining. Pince was nowhere to be seen. _Quidditch_ …

Should she try to cast _Incarcerous_? Would it work on an inanimate object? Probably not. She would need a willing test-subject, again. Conjuring could be tricky so she didn't want to start throwing it at Weasleys around the school. Not just yet. It could embarrass her if it didn't work…

Dean exclaimed something, looked around, and ran her way holding a book. He looked from Hermione to Penelope, and ran to Penelope. He showed her the book, to her utter confusion. Hermione watched them argue for a minute, Dean pounding on the book and Penelope beginning to understand. _Did he just rip that page out of the book?_

The pair of them dashed out of the library, halting at the door for a moment, bent over and looking at something, then were off again.

Hermione stared after them. _That was odd_. Then she looked over at the book. Then at the empty library. _If Pince finds that, and I'm the only one here_ …

 _Nope_. Hermione shoved her textbooks into her back, leaving the NEWT books spread across the table for Pince to clear up, and hastily made her exit. The Slytherin dorms were more comfortable, anyway.

* * *

 **Sick dodge by Hermione. She coulda been done in for sure.**

 **(Take a deep breath - the final sprint is here)**


	19. A Basilisk has no Arms

**A/N: Wrangling MMIII has been a tougher job than anticipated, possibly because I decided to change ending in the middle of writing it... A bonus chapter for you and a kick in the butt for me.**

 **There will be some M material in the next few chapters.**

* * *

 **Chapter 19**

 **A Basilisk has no Arms**

Dean was petrified. Penelope was petrified. Hermione didn't know what to think. She had seen them minutes, maybe seconds, before they were attacked. Hermione had been so close to death and all she had been thinking of was being blamed for a vandalized book.

Professor Snape read out the announcement in a bored voice. "All students will return to their House common rooms by six o'clock in the evening. No student is to leave the dormitories after that time. You will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher. No student is to use the bathroom unaccompanied by a teacher. All further Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed. There will be no more evening activities."

Jeers quickly followed.

"We can't go _anywhere_ without a teacher?"

"Why's Quidditch cancelled?"

"We're Slytherin, we don't need any of this garbage!"

"This is bull–"

"Enough," roared Snape, and the room fell silent. "I did not make these rules, however, I will uphold them. All of you must abide by them, or else be punished severely." Snape stared down several of the dissenters before sweeping out of the common room.

The Slytherins descended into chaos. Some were mocking the victims. Some complained about the new regulations. Some worried about the school being shut down. "They wouldn't close the school, right?" Hermione asked Malfoy. If his father really _was_ as powerful as he said he was, Malfoy would know something.

"I don't think so. Dumbledore would go before that happen," he shrugged. "Father wouldn't let him get away with doing nothing."

Dumbledore did indeed go. The next morning. The school was abuzz at breakfast. Lucius Malfoy had acted fast; the rumor was that he came in the night with the Minister of Magic himself to oversee Dumbledore's departure and Hagrid's arrest. Tom had been right. After her morning classes, Hermione rushed back to her room to write to him.

But when she arrived and looked through her things, the diary was gone. She turned out her bag onto her bed. Potions textbook, Transfiguration, Charms, Astronomy, all her class materials were accounted for. But Tom's diary was missing. Hermione dug through her trunk. Nothing. She looked over her desk again. Under her pillow. Between the sheets. Under the bed. It was gone. _Where the hell did you get off to, Tom?_

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

Hermione knocked on the tall wooden doors to the hospital wing. They didn't open immediately. She stood glancing up and down the halls. Hermione managed to evade several teachers already, but didn't want to get caught by a stray professor. _Or the Heir_.

The door creaked open a crack. Madam Pomfrey watched her from the other side of the gap. "Yes, what is it?"

"I came to visit Dean and Penelope…" Hermione said cautiously.

"No visitors," came the curt reply. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again!"

"But," Hermione protested, "Professor Snape said I could!"

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but I can't allow it –"

From around the corner stumbled two boys. One with black hair, one with red. They both eyed Hermione with suspicion. "Professor McGonagall said we could visit Dean," Weasley told Pomfrey.

"Did she now?" the strict nurse mused, clearly troubled. "There isn't much point to it, they can't hear you."

"If it's all the same, Ma'am," said Potter, "We'd like to anyway."

Pomfrey huffed and opened the door wide enough for them to enter. Hermione squeezed in past the closing door. "Oh, no, Miss Granger. Afraid I can't let you in," Pomfrey clucked.

"Please!" Hermione cried, "If you can let Potter in, why not me?"

"Minerva is acting Headmistress–"

"And she said they could visit their friend. He's my friend too! It wouldn't be fair to exclude me." Hermione pulled the best puppy-dog face she could. Wizards weren't immune to that. Hell, even Hermione's mother wasn't immune… completely.

Pomfrey pursed her lips, steeling herself to reject Hermione's pleas, but couldn't. "Very well, Miss Granger. Five minutes. That goes for you, too, boys!"

The Gryffindors looked up from their seats next to Dean but didn't respond. Hermione walked quickly over to Penelope's bed. She was still as stone. _It has to be here, somewhere_ … Penelope wasn't holding anything, and Hermione checked all of her pockets. There were a neat stack of books on the table next to her, and somebody had set a flower on top. Hermione quickly paged through each book, but nothing fell out. Hermione bit her lip and turned around.

Potter and Weasley were glaring. "Whatcha doing, plundering her things like that?" the redhead said.

"None of your business, Weasley." Hermione strode up to Dean's bed and began searching his pockets.

"Hey, lay off, Granger!" Weasley made to grab for her wrist but Hermione pulled her wand. He backed off quickly.

Hermione checked over her shoulder to see if Pomfrey had noticed anything. No. "Listen, Weasley, just sit still and I'll get out of your hair." Potter was considering her wand, weighing possibility that she would use it. Hermione used her free hand to continue her search, but came up empty.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Potter asked.

"I came to see Dean… and Penelope… and Justin," she finished with a pang of guilt. She hadn't visited Justin all year. He had been laying there since wintertime. Maybe she was afraid to come. Maybe she just forgot. Hermione didn't know which was worse.

"Why?" Weasley snarled. "You don't seem to care for anyone outside of Slytherin."

"They're my friends, too, Weasley."

"Friends you haven't spoken to in a year or two," Potter countered.

"I met them first!" she barked back, still with her wand trained on them. Hermione looked over Dean's table. Someone had left a dirty old football there. Interesting, but not very helpful.

"What are you looking for?" Potter asked, those green eyes trained on her wand.

"None of your business," she repeated, looking over Dean's body again. Would he hide it on his person? Was it that important? Hermione frowned, scanning up and down. No odd lumps or anything. Then she looked at his hand.

It was curled in an odd way. Almost a fist. Like he was clutching something. "Move," she said to Weasley, who scooted out of the way with a growl. With some effort, Hermione managed to pry the little ball of paper out of Dean's hand. A triumphant smile adorning her face, she smoothed it out.

"What's that?" asked Potter.

"I think," Hermione said, "I've found us a monster." Hermione stashed her wand away and made for the exit.

Potter and Weasley ran after her. "What do you mean, found a monster?" the redhead demanded.

"It's all on the paper," Hermione replied confidently, stuffing it inside her robes. "I'm going to enjoy the look on McGonagall's face when she realizes I've solved the mystery when Dumbledore couldn't."

"You're bonkers."

Potter was less defiant. "What is it, then?"

"Wouldn't you like to know? You'd try to steal my credit, then, wouldn't you?" Hermione smirked at him.

"Just like you're stealing credit from Dean?" Weasley shot back. "He was going on about some sort of muggle myth."

"He got caught, though, didn't he? _I'm_ not going to."

"Where are you going?"

"Staff room, Potter. I wouldn't follow. Snape might have your head," she laughed, but they followed anyway.

The staff room was empty, but the clock said ten minutes until the next break.

Then McGonagall's voice blared through the castle.

"Another attack?" Potter whispered.

"Should we go back to the dormitories?"

"No," Hermione stated, sitting down resolutely. "I'm staying. The teachers need to know."

"Granger's right," Potter said. "I'm staying too. In here. Let's hear what's going on." Hermione turned slightly to see Potter and Weasley climbing into an old wardrobe. "Come on, Granger!"

"Hide? In there? With you two?" Hermione snorted. "Fat chance." She turned expectantly to the door. Any moment now, she'd be the hero. She could rub it in Dumbledore's old, wrinkly face for the rest of her Hogwarts career.

Two pairs of hands grabbed her roughly by the arms and began pulling her back. "What the hell?" Hermione tried to wiggle free but Weasly and Potter bungled her into the wardrobe. "You little pests –"

The staff door swung open. Teachers filed in, the last being McGonagall. "It has happened. A student has been taken by the monster. Right into the Chamber itself." The room gasped as one.

"How can you be sure?" asked Snape, always the pragmatist.

"The Heir of Slytherin left another message. Right underneath the first one. ' _Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever_.'"

"Who is it?" Hooch asked shakily from her seat. "Which student?"

"Ginny Weasley."

Ronald make a gulping sound and slid down onto the floor of the wardrobe.

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

Hermione watched as the professors filed out of the staff room.

 _This doesn't make sense…_ Weasley was a pureblood. Annoying, yes. Gryffindor, yes. But a pureblood nonetheless. There was no reason for the Heir to attack her. _But he didn't_ attack _her. She was taken_.

That made even less sense. Slytherin's monster, the basilisk, purged the castle of unworthy wizards. They didn't kidnap Gryffindor princesses. Not even real dragons did that. _I think_. The logistics of it, even, didn't quite add up. How could a basilisk _take_ a girl into the Chamber? Snakes had no arms. A basilisk was venomous; it couldn't use its mouth to carry her. Unless it meant to kill her. Weasley was _supposed_ to die, after all; the message confirmed that. But why in the Chamber? Why not just stare her down a _bam_ she falls on her arse, dead. Was it because she was a pureblood? She deserved more than that? That brought Hermione back to the issue of blood. Weasley was pureblood. Labelled as a blood traitor? Possibly. But there were plenty of blood traitors hanging around, and only muggle-borns had been attacked. The question _why_ still hung in the air.

Hermione realized that the three of them had been frozen still in the cramped wardrobe for several minutes. She pushed her way out and was followed by Potter, and slowly, Weasley. The redhead boy was blanched; his gaze was unfocused. Hermione half expected him to faint.

They stood in a triangular shape, each look from one to the other, none sure of what to say.

Potter finally broke the silence. "What is the monster?"

His voice was so cold Hermione felt a shiver down her spine. Those emerald eyes shone with fierce determination. "A basilisk," Hermione whispered. She took out the crumbled paper and handed it over to Potter.

"A basilisk?" Weasley croaked, even whiter now.

"The crow of a rooster is fatal to it…" Potter read.

"So, we only need to get a rooster," she reasoned.

"Except," Potter said grimly, "They're all dead."

"Dead?" whispered Weasley.

"Hagrid's been finding them dead all year."

Hermione frowned. "He knew. Hagrid knew they could kill his beast."

"His beast?"

"Hagrid opened the Chamber last time," Hermione said, "Fifty years ago."

"Hagrid didn't do it!" Potter complained.

"He was expelled, Potter. He was arrested. He did it. Now his monster has taken a little redheaded vengeance."

"No, he didn't," Potter said fiercely. "Fifty years ago, Hagrid was caught with a beast, but it wasn't a basilisk."

"How do you know?"

"Because we met it," Weasley whimpered.

Hermione turned on him. " _Met_ it?"

Potter nodded. "It's a giant spider, and its name is Aragog."

Hermione snorted. "Aragog? A giant spider?"

"Hagrid didn't do it," Weasley said. "How would a basilisk write on the wall? The Heir is still out there."

Hermione bit her lip. How did Weasley pull that bit of logic out of his arse at the most inopportune time? A basilisk had no arms. No fingers. "I suppose a snake can't write in English, either…" she conceded. "I wonder if you can write Parseltongue."

Potter made a gasping noise. "That's what it is… That's what I heard!"

"Heard?" Hermione watched realization dawn on Weasley's face. She didn't like him knowing things before her. "What do you hear, Potter?"

"I've heard a voice before all of the attacks. No one else has. It's because they can't understand _Parseltongue_."

"You hear a voice before all of the attacks?"

"Yeah," he shrugged. "I guess that's why I was always there."

Hermione scratched her head. "Did you hear a voice now? Or, I don't know, an hour ago?"

"Uh… no."

That was puzzling. Unless… "The basilisk wasn't released…" she realized.

"Then what took Ginny into the Chamber?" Weasley asked.

"I think," Hermione said slowly, "The Heir did." She smiled.

"Why're you smiling?" asked Potter angrily.

"Because," she said, smile widening. "It means that either he was caught in the corridors after all the students were sent to the dorms, or… he's still in the Chamber. Trapped red handed. We can go catch him."

"Lockhart knows where the Chamber is!" Weasley shouted, but Hermione shook her head.

"I don't think so."

"Yeah, I doubt it," Potter agreed. "We need to find the Chamber ourselves."

"Where could it be, though? I think I would have noticed a giant serpent sneaking around the Slytherin dorms."

"If you saw it, you'd probably be dead. Or petrified," said Potter.

"Only if I saw its eyes… Besides, would Slytherin put a hole directly to a homicidal beast near his student's living quarters? I don't think so."

"He _was_ crazy…" Weasley muttered.

"That's not helping," Hermione grumbled back. "If you have something to contribute, please, do."

"Well, Aragog did say…"

"We're going on the word of a giant anthropomorphic spider now?"

"He _said_ ," Wealsey growled, "that a muggle-born girl died last time. In a bathroom."

Hermione threw up her hands. "That is next to useless! Everyone who's been petrified have been in a _hallway_ , so the basilisk has been slithering around everywhere –" Hermione stopped. "Why _hasn't_ anyone seen it?"

"They'd die –"

"No, Potter. If there's a snake going around the castle, no one's seen its tail going around a corner? A twenty foot snake isn't just _ignored_."

"I'm saying-" Weasley started, but Hermione didn't listen.

"It has to be getting around the castle in another way. What other way?" Hermione pulled on a strand of her hair, twisting it around a finger. "There's hallways… doors… walls… the ceiling? Floor? Walls. Are there secret passages in the walls?"

"I think –"

"Passages in the walls…? Hollow walls? Wouldn't someone notice? They'd know. Dumbledore would know. Wouldn't he? He's been here for more than half a century." Hermione added another strand to her twisting. "Dumbledore would know. So any secret passage would be searched, right? They'd know… they'd know… They do know. It's been there the whole time. Passages in the walls. Obvious. There's plumbing. There's pipes. There are pipes in the walls. Pipes." Hermione grinned. "Pipes lead to bathrooms. Bathrooms lead to…"

Hermione stared at Weasley. "Myrtle," they said together.

He blinked. "How do you know about Myrtle?"

Hermione blinked right back. _You've seen me in that bathroom_. Only, he hadn't. He saw Parvati. Padma. _Best not to ruin that special moment_. "How do _you_ know about Myrtle? She lives… lives in the _girl's_ bathroom."

Weasley's cheeks regained a bit of color. "I – er – Fred and George told me about her… They know a lot about Hogwarts…" he mumbled.

"Myrtle?" Potter questioned, looking from Ronald to Hermione.

"She's a ghost," Hermione said. _She knew Tom. Tom was at Hogwarts when the Chamber was opened. It's_ her. "who haunts a bathroom. If the girl died in a bathroom, Myrtle is our best guess. She might be able to tell us something."

"What are we waiting for?" Ronald exclaimed.

"I think," Hermione said, stopping him before he dashed out of the staff room, "We should tell Lockhart."

"He's a fraud," Potter said immediately.

"Maybe, but he's still the Defence teacher…" Hermione shrugged. "And he's going to try to get into the Chamber. He's going to die if he doesn't know there's a basilisk down there."

"What if he stops us going after Ginny?" Ronald fidgeted.

Hermione considered it for a moment. "We could always hex him."


	20. Res Gestae Diaboli Gilderoy

**A/N: 100 favorites and 100 reviews... thanks guys!**

 **This chapter may edge into M rating.**

* * *

 **Chapter 20**

 **Res Gestae Diaboli Gilderoy**

The odd trio stole their way through the castle avoiding the patrolling teachers. They made it to Lockhart's office quite easily. Lockhart opened after the second knock.

"Ah, Potter! Weasley!" he said enthusiastically. "…Granger… What can I do for you three? Shouldn't you be in your dorms? Professor McGonagall was _emphatic_."

"We have to get Ginny!" Ronald exclaimed. _Tactful as always_.

"Oh," Lockhart swayed from side to side. "Oh, told you already, have they?" He scratched his chin for a second. "Very well, come in." The three of them entered and Lockhart closed the door behind them.

On his desk behind him was a large box, with several of his portraits stacked next to it. A trunk was lying open at the foot of the desk. "Going somewhere?" Potter asked.

"Yes, in fact, I am," Lockhart smiled amiably. "I don't know if they've told you _this_ yet, but McGonagall expects the school to be closing imminently. It seems I'll be out of a job."

Hermione huffed. "What happened to the great Gilderoy Lockhart saving little Virginia?"

"Ginerva," Ronald said.

"What?"

"Her name is Ginerva," he repeated in a grave tone.

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. _Purebloods.._. _Are they going to tell me that Fred isn't short for Frederick?_ She turned back to Lockhart, "What happened to saving little Virginia?"

"Ah, told you that bit too, did they?" Lockhart muttered, fingering his wand.

"She's my sister," Ronald whined. Under the circumstances, Hermione found it hard to judge him. She managed it, though.

"Yes. The fraternal instinct. Quite powerful," Lockhart nodded. "However, there remains a problem."

"What?" Potter asked.

"You see, I don't know where the Chamber is," he tittered from one foot to the other.

"We might," Potter immediately stated.

"Oh?"

"We know someone who might," Hermione said.

"Uh huh…"

" _And_ we know what kind of monster it is!" Ronald cried.

Lockhart blinked. "You do? What, pray tell?"

"A basilisk!" Ronald and Potter said together. _Cute_.

"A basilisk…" Lockhart bobbled his head for a moment, a hand going to his hair to check its perfect curl. "Intriguing. You say you know where the Chamber is?"

"Myrtle might know."

Lockhart slid his fingers down the length of his wand and up again. "And you know for sure the creature is a basilisk? And how to defeat it?"

"We're almost certain," began Hermione. "And we know _how_ we could defeat it –"

"Good show, Granger!" he exclaimed. "I had my doubts, but Professor Snape set me straight."

Hermione stuttered, "He – He d-did?"

"Indeed, my good girl. Now Snape, he tells me, 'she's a bright witch', he says, 'takes some getting used to, but got a good brain beneath those voluminous locks'. It seems you're making good on his faith – my faith! Come now," he roared, "Take me to this Myrtle chap."

Lockhart was almost bouncing with joy as they rushed along the corridors, past the message on the wall, and to Myrtle's bathroom. Ronald looked like he was going to be sick. Hermione wasn't sure if it was the message or a return to the location of his greatest humiliation.

"Ahoy, Myrtle?" Lockhart called down the row of stalls. "This Myrtle person is in here, right?" he asked the trio, who nodded. "Myrtle?"

On cue, Myrtle floated out of her stall. "Who's there?"

"Oh, _you're_ Myrtle?" Lockhart was taken aback.

"Yes," she responded with a glare.

Lockhart puffed out his chest. "Oh, well, point me to where the Chamber of Secrets is! There's a girl to save!"

Myrtle only narrowed her eyes. "I don't know anything about a secret chamber."

"Please, Myrtle," Hermione interrupted, "We want to know how you died."

"How I died?" Myrtle beamed. "You want to know how I died?"

"Desperately," Ronald muttered.

"Shush," Hermione scolded.

"Ooooh, it was dreadful. It happened right in here. I died in this very stall. I remember it so well. I'd hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked, and I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in. They said something funny. Different language, I think it must have been. Anyway, what really got me was that it was a _boy_ speaking. So I unlocked the door, to tell him to go and use his own toilet, and then – I died."

"How?"

"No idea, I just remembered seeing a pair of great, big yellow eyes. My whole body sort of seized up, and then I was floating away… And then I came back again. I was determined to haunt Oliver Hornby, you see. Oh, she was sorry she'd ever laughed at my glasses."

"Were exactly did you see the eyes?"

"Somewhere there."

Hermione walked over to the sink. Lockhart bounded after her and stuck his head in the sink. "Nothing down the drain," he said with conviction. He turned his whole body around so he was leaning back against the basin and could look up the spout. "Nothing here, either, except…" He twisted his body again and inspected one of the taps. "This look like something… serpentious?"

There was a clear image of a snake scratched into the tap. "Very," she agreed. "Potter, get over here." He complied. "Say something."

"Say what?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I don't know… something _serpentious_."

Potter frowned at the tap, and then said, "Open up."

"I like the effort, Potter," Lockhart chuckled. "But this time: _hiss._ "

Potter scowled. He adjusted his angle and opened his mouth, but this time an insidious rasp escaped his lips. The tap glowed bright, spun, and the sink sank into the floor, exposing a large pipe. "Good show, chap!" Lockhart grinned. "We've found it."

"I'm going down there," Potter said. Ronald agreed.

"True Gryffindors," Hermione laughed. "Running headlong into a Basilisk?"

"I'll have to agree with Miss Granger," Lockhart said. "Harry, my boy, go alert the staff I've made my final descent into the Chamber. I shall return with the little Miss Weasley, hopefully safe and sound."

"No, I'm going too," Potter complained. "What if… what if there's another door down there?"

"I am a fully grown wizard, Potter. Doors open for me," Lockhart waved him away. "Ready, Miss Granger?"

Hermione stated. "What?"

"Well, you are the Slytherin here. Basilisk expert," he smiled a small, evil smile. "Just like that troll, eh? Let's get going." Lockhart grabbed Hermione's robes and jumped into the pipe.

Hermione shrieked the whole way down. _The bastard!_ She slid out of the pipe onto wet stone, the back of her robes slimy and disgusting.

"What the hell?" she screamed.

Lockhart only laughed and cast _Lumos_. The tunnel was barely lit, but Hermione could see the dark void of a corridor extending further forward.

A few moments later, she heard sounds from the pipe and jumped out of the way as Potter and Weasley slid out.

"I told you to go to the staff," Lockhart said.

"I'm not letting _you two_ hold the fate of my sister in your hands," Ronald spat.

"And I'm the only one who can speak Parseltongue," Potter added.

Lockhart harrumphed, but didn't object. "Onwards?"

The three boys strode off, leaving Hermione standing at the end of the tunnel. Lockhart was trying to get her killed. That was the only logical conclusion.

"You coming, Granger?" the professor called.

Hermione took out her wand and whispered, " _Lumos_." She was here now. It didn't matter how it happened. She wasn't going to be left behind. She'd get the credit if they survived. And Lockhart had to pay. "I'm going to report you to Lucius Malfoy," she called to him. "He's on the Board of Governors."

Lockhart sniggered. "I'm only on a one year contract, Granger. The governors can't do anything to me."

"Mister Malfoy is a powerful man. His influence stretches further than Hogwarts," Hermione paraphrased the propaganda Malfoy and Pansy has been spewing for the last two years. Hopefully it was true. Hopefully he would be on her side. Even if she was a muggle-born.

"After I rid the school of this monster, I doubt anyone could touch me," Lockhart called back. "And saving three or four students at the same time? Well, I might just get myself a statue."

"How are you going to kill the basilisk?" Hermione asked, catching up to the group as they rounded a bend and saw a huge, curved form blocking the path. The three students flung their arms up to block their eyes.

"What's the deal, kiddos?" Lockhart chuckled, "Just a snake skin."

Hermione slowly lowered her arm. Lockhart was right. A giant green snake skin lay across the floor, but held no snake within. Hermione walked forward and touched the dry, scaly sheath. Potter advanced beside her. "I guess now we know what we're up against."

"Yes," Lockhart said behind them, "And before we go on, I'd like to know Miss Granger's plan to defeat it."

"Plan?" Hermione scoffed, "There's no plan."

Lockhart looked confused. "No plan? You said you knew how to defeat a basilisk."

"I do. The cries of a rooster are fatal –"

"So we get a rooster from Hagrid's –"

"They're all dead," Potter said. "They Heir killed them all."

Lockhart chewed his lip. "I see. Any other gems?"

"It can kill you with its eyes," Hermione growled. "And its teeth."

Lockhart grunted. "We seem to be in a bind here."

"If you weren't such an _idiot_ we'd have been able to think of _something_." Hermione muttered, looking forward into the darkness. Maybe they'd find Virginia's corpse and be able to leave knowing their mission was a failure.

"Oh, I always have a backup, Miss Granger."

Something whipped through the air.

" _Expelliarmus!_ "

Potter was thrown forward, his wand clattering into the darkness.

Hermione turned just in time to see Ronald attempt to retaliate against Lockhart. His spell backfired and the redhead was knocked against the wall, daze. Lockhart sent another disarming charm at Hermione, but she was ready. " _Protego!_ "

Lockhart smiled ruefully. Keeping his wand trained on Hermione. "I was hoping the duelling club was a stroke of luck."

" _Bombarda!"_ Hermione shouted, aiming at his face.

The Defence professor easily blocked her spell.

" _Diffindo! Petrificus Totalus!_ "

Lockhart was equal to her every attack. " _Stupify!_ " he shot back.

" _Protego!_ "

The blond man took a step forward. Hermione took a step backward. Only now did she notice her heart jumping out of her chest. "What's your plan here?" Hermione asked hesitantly. If she stalled long enough for Potter to get back up, find his wand, they might be able to fight their way out. "It looks like you've been stalled up by a second year."

"Sure, I've never been a premier duellist," Lockhart conceded, taking another step forward to Hermione's step back, "But I have my talents."

"How are you going to explain this to the school? You took three kids down here and they all wound up dead?" Hermione placed another step back, almost slipping on a bit of loose skin.

"Not all dead, Granger. I've followed the Heir of Slytherin down here. I chased her through the tunnels and found the desecrated corpse of poor Miss Weasley," Lockhart grinned. "It turned out the Heir of Slytherin was just a muggle-born girl desperate for acceptance. She'd do anything to gain a certain Mister Malfoy's approval. She thought turning on her own kind would do the trick. I don't think anyone could disprove that. You only started conversing with Mister Malfoy _after_ the attacks began. No one else gives you the time of day. It's perfect, really."

A rustling behind her meant that Potter was moving around, looking for his wand. "Snape won't believe it," Hermione quavered, holding a hand out to steady herself on the wall.

"One man," he shrugged, stepping over a bit of skin.

"And Potter, and Weasley? They were poor casualties, too?"

"They couldn't let me handle the Heir on my own. They were too emotional, too boneheaded. They chased after you, too. But they were no match for your… talents. They won't remember a thing. You see, my specialty is to… undo the mind."

"Undo the mind?"

" _Obliviate_ is the spell, eliminate is the result. How do you think I got all those books out without anyone… popping up with alternate stories." He tapped the side of his skull. "They didn't remember a thing."

"So you're just going to leave them as mindless slugs and take all the glory of murdering a thirteen year old girl?"

"The Heir left me with little choice," he shrugged, "She wouldn't surrender!" Lockhart made a sudden jab with his wand.

Hermione recoiled, yelling " _Protego!_ " But no spell came. Her foot stepped on a section of slimy rock and she slipped. Lockhart redirected his wand and incanted, " _Incarcerous!_ "

Thick cords sprung out of the air and wrapped around her ankles. Hermione toppled heavily to the ground.

"Goodbye, Miss Granger." Lockhart raised his wand over his head.

Hermione shouted the first spell that leapt to her mind and slashed the air.

" _Confringo!_ "

Fire hurdled out of her wand, soaring over Lockhart's head and smashing into the roof of the cave. The explosion was immediate. A fireball erupted overhead illuminating the cavern for an instant in an orange glow, followed quickly by a hail of rock. Hermione pulled herself across the damp ground as the tunnel started to collapse.

A rock hit her head. Then a lump flopped across her legs.

Her ears were ringing. She couldn't hear a thing. Hermione turned over and pointed her glowing wand down at her legs.

The face of Gilderoy Lockhart stared up at her. His hair was smouldering. The back of his head was charred. He reached out with skinned hands. Hermione pushed desperately away from him. Lockhart tried to say something but only coughed up blood all over her legs. He was trying to crawl towards her, but the lower half of his body was pinned under a pile of stone.

Blood was seeping out of his ears. He tried to speak again. Through the blood and wheezing and ringing, Hermione could make out a faint word on his lips. " _Granger_ …" She stared into his bright blue eyes, darkening in every moment. He reached out again and Hermione crawled further away. She tried to look away, to tear her glistening eyes off his burnt and bloody face, but couldn't. She watched, transfixed, as the life faded from Gilderoy Lockhart until she was staring at glazed-over eyes and the mangled body of the man who had tried to murder her.

The man that she had killed.


	21. Beauty and the Beast

**Chapter 21**

 **Beauty and the Beast**

Hermione lay over a pool of vomit and hurled. She spat out the last bit of bile, joined soon by the dripping of unbidden tears. Her breath was ragged. Every time she tried to breathe deep to calm herself, she inhaled the fumes of vomit or the rank odor of burnt flesh and she puked again.

Somewhere in the dark there was movement. "Granger, is that you?"

Potter was crawling across the ground. Hermione tried to answer, but only sputtered on a half-breath. A spasm shot up from her stomach. More fluid erupted from her throat and she whimpered. "Where's my wand, Granger?" Potter asked. Hermione shook her head, though in the darkness, Potter couldn't see it. He was by her side now. His hand was on her back. "I can't find my wand." Hermione shook again. She grabbed his hand and stuffed her wand into it.

A pale glow sprung to life, shining across the stone, illuminating the former contents of Hermione's stomach that she was now leaning over. She groaned and rolled away.

"What happened?" Potter asked, looking at the wall of stone that separated them from the exit.

"Lockhart," Hermione gasped.

"Is that…" Potter didn't finish. She knew he was trying to look away from the corpse. "Ron! Ron, you there?"

Through the rubble came a faint voice, "I'm here!"

"You okay?"

"I'm fine. Got a bump on my head, but I'm fine!"

Hermione stared at the black ceiling, plugging her nose as tears streamed down her cheeks. _Deep breaths. Deep breaths._

"I can't get through," said Ronald. "I can try moving some rocks, but that'll take…"

"Too long," Potter finished.

 _Reducto!_ " _Red_ –" Hermione wheezed, " _Reducto!_ "

Either Potter ignored her or she was too quiet, and Hermione didn't have the energy to say it any louder. He was moving around the tunnel, scanning the floor. "I can't find my wand, Granger."

Hermione didn't care. _Deep breaths._

"I'm going on, Ron," Potter yelled. "If I'm not back in an hour… You should try to get back and tell someone."

Hermione could only hear the sound of silence and her ragged breathing. _Deep breaths_.

"Okay," Ronald answered after a minute. "I'm going to try to make an opening. So you… when… so you can get back. Good luck, mate."

"Alright. See you in an hour," Potter turned the light forward. "I'm taking your wand, Granger. Sorry, but I need it." Hermione listened to his steps slowly carry him away.

With him went the light. Darkness enveloped everything. And silence. Deafening silence. Hermione felt her heart thumping again. _Deep breaths_. Somewhere in the black was Gilderoy Lockhart. The crushed man. The burnt man. The bloody man. The dead man. _No, no, no_.

 _Thump_.

Hermione stifled a scream. Something moved on the other side of the rubble. A rock tumbling to the ground. _I'm not staying here. Not here_. She pulled herself up; with some difficulty, she stood. Hugging the wall, Hermione propelled herself forward in the darkness. She could see a small light in the distance. "Potter," she gasped, "Potter!" The light stopped bobbling. "Wait!"

She pulled herself along the wall, fighting the quivers running up and down her body. Potter was twenty feed or so in front of her and walking forward, occasionally looking back at her. "I can't wait for you," he said. "Ginny needs my help."

"I'm not staying here in the dark," she whispered.

Hermione's heart jumped every time Potter rounded a bend and left her in the blackness. She pushed herself faster and faster until she bumped into the back of Potter. He was standing in front of a wall. Two serpents with emerald eyes. Potter walked close to the wall and hissed at the snakes.

Hermione didn't know if she could shake anymore that she was at that moment.

A long chamber opened up before them. Tall pillars stretched up into the darkness. Potter forged forward, a little jumpy but otherwise the true Gryffindor bravery showing through his fear. Hermione followed at her own pace, pillar by pillar. The little serpents carved into each column watched her progress. _I'm a Slytherin_. _I'm a Slytherin_ , she wanted to tell them. _I'm one of you_ …

A tall statue was erected at the end of the chamber. A black-robed figure with red hair lay beneath it. Potter abandoned all sense of caution and dashed to the little Weasley. Hermione's wand clattered to the floor.

With no signs of movement that Hermione could see, she, too, advanced towards the girl. Virginia was laying face up and was not responding to Potter's pleas. Hermione knelt next to Potter. The girl was clutching something in her hand.

"She won't wake," a voice drifted their way from behind them.

Both Potter and Hermione spun around. Leaning against the closest pillar was the tall spectral form of a boy. "Who are _you_?" Potter demanded.

The boy was handsome, Hermione could tell that, even now in the murky depths of the Chamber of Secrets. His black hair was perfectly groomed. His dark eyes fixed on her, his lip curling. "I thought I told you to be careful around Potter, Hermione. I don't trust him."

Hermione stared at him. Then back to Virginia. A small little black book was tucked under her arm. Not a book. A _diary_. "Tom?" she asked shakily.

Tom nodded. Potter looked from one to the other. "What do you mean, she won't wake?"

"She's alive, for now." Tom slowly walked towards them.

"Are you a ghost?" Potter asked.

Tom looked like a ghost, but he was _walking_ across the floor. Ghosts didn't walk.

"A memory. Preserved in a diary for fifty years."

Potter looked at the diary, then at Hermione.

"You've got to help us, Tom," said Hermione. "There's a basilisk around here somewhere. And we've got no roosters."

Tom nodded slowly. "Yes, I know."

Potter was trying to heave Virginia off the floor. "Did you see –?" He looked to the ground, then at Tom, who suddenly had Hermione's wand in his fingers. "Thanks," Potter said, extending a hand to retrieve the wand.

Tom didn't move.

"We have to go, if the Basilisk –"

"It won't come until it is called," Tom said idly. "I've been waiting for this moment, Potter, for quite some time."

Hermione frowned from her spot on the floor. She was too tired to stand again. "What do you mean, Tom?"

"It is waiting for instructions."

"From the Heir?"

He nodded.

"But it's not Hagrid. The Heir wrote a message on the wall, and Hagrid is in Azkaban," Hermione mused. "And it's not Potter…"

"Of course it isn't," the smaller boy said angrily.

Tom chuckled. "It most definitely is not."

"Then who is it? He must still be here. He didn't pass us on the way out, and he didn't have time to get away after bringing Virginia here…."

"No, I don't suppose he did," Tom agreed.

"How did Ginny get like this?" Potter asked. "Did you see?"

"I didn't _see_. But I do _know_."

"What happened?"

"That is a long story, but we have time. You see...little Ginny was lonely. She poured her heart out to an invisible stranger.

"Ginny's been writing in _my_ diary for months. About how her brother teases her; how her robes and books are all second-hand; how _awful_ that Slytherin girl is;" Tom's eyes sparkled at Hermione. "How the _good,_ nay, the _great_ Harry Potter could _never_ like _her_ …" Tom was wearing an evil grin. "All so _very_ boring. But I listened. I wrote back. I sympathized. And she loved me for that.

"I've always been able to charm the people I needed. So Ginny poured out her soul to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted… I grew stronger and stronger on a diet of her deepest fears, her darkest secrets. I grew powerful, far more powerful than little Miss Weasley. Powerful enough to start feeding Miss Weasley a few of _my_ secrets, to start pouring a little of _my_ soul back into _her_ …"

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?" she said.

"Haven't you guessed yet? Ginny Weasley opened the Chamber of Secrets. Strangled the school roosters and wrote the messages. She set the Serpent of Slytherin on four Mudbloods, and the Squib's cat."

"No," Potter whispered.

"Of course, she didn't _know_ it..."

 _Did Tom do that to me?_ Hermione gulped. _Did I sound like her? Was I that desperate for a friend?_ Hermione stared at the little black book.

"It took a very long time for stupid little Ginny to stop trusting her diary. But she finally became suspicious and tried to dispose of it." Tom was grinning at Hermione now. "And I got a _completely_ different view of the famous Harry Potter."

"What are you talking about?" Potter had curled his hands into fists and was nearly shaking with rage.

"I don't think your fan-club includes _every_ girl in the wizarding world, Potter. Maybe just the inept ones." Tom spun Hermione's wand between two fingers. "But I don't care much for those sorts of things. I'm more interested in how you survived that night twelve years ago. _How_ you survived a killing curse from Voldemort himself. Voldemort, the greatest wizard of all time. You, a skinny boy with no discernible talent. How did you survive with a scar while his powers were destroyed?"

Hermione frowned. This was all getting a bit weird. "Voldemort was after your time. How do you know what happened forty years after you were made?"

Tom crouched down and looked Hermione in the eye. "Voldemort is my past, present and future…" He stood abruptly and wrote in the air with Hermione's wand.

 _Tom Marvolo Riddle_

He swished the wand through the air and the letters rearranged themselves.

 _i am lord voldeMoRT_

"You think I'd use my filthy muggle father's name forever?" he spat. "I, in whose veins runs the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself, through my mother's side? I, keep the name of a foul, common muggle who abandoned me even before I was born, just because he found out his wife was a witch? No – I fashioned myself a new name, a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!"

Hermione's head was spinning. _Tom is the Dark Lord? Voldemort?_ _He was the one who killed Potter's parents?_

"You're not," Potter said softly.

"Not what?"

"Not the greatest sorcerer in the world. Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore. Everyone says so. Even when you were strong, you didn't dare try and take over at Hogwarts, and he still frightens you now, wherever you're hiding these days –"

"Dumbledore's been driven out of this castle by the mere _memory_ of me!" Tom snarled.

"He's not as gone as you might think!"

Hermione closed her eyes. Dumbledore was gone. He wasn't coming back. She knew that. Potter knew that. He was just making Tom angrier.

A soft song was playing from somewhere in the Chamber. An ethereal melody that grew louder and louder – until a flaming mass erupted atop the nearest pillar.

The crimson bird, cooing its song, circled, dove downwards, and dropped a bundle at Potter's feet and landed on his shoulder.

"That's a phoenix," Tom said.

" _Fawkes_?" Potter breathed.

"The Sorting Hat…" Hermione added, staring at the bundle of cloth on the floor.

Tom laughed. "This is what Dumbledore sends his defender! A songbird and an old hat! Do you feel brave, Harry Potter?" The last laughed left Tom's throat. "To business, Harry. Twice – in your past, in my future – we have met. And twice I failed to kill you. _How did you survive_? Tell me everything."

"No one knows why you lost your powers when you attacked me," Potter said. "I don't know myself. But I know why you couldn't _kill_ me. Because my mother died to save me. My common muggle-born mother. She stopped you killing me. And I've seen the real you - I saw you last year. You're a wreck. You're barely alive. That's where all your power got you. You're in hiding. You're ugly, -you're foul –"

"So, your mother died to save you." Tom thought for a moment. "I can see now… there is nothing special about you, after all. I wondered, you see. There are strange likenesses between us, after all. Even you must have noticed. Both half-bloods, orphans, raised by muggles. Probably the only two Parselmouths to come to Hogwarts since the great Slytherin himself. We even _look_ something alike… but after all, it was merely… luck… chance… that saved you from me. That's all I wanted to know. Now I'm going to teach you a little lesson. Let's match the powers of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, against famous Harry Potter, and the best weapons Dumbledore can give him…"

Tom moved away from them and faced the statue. He began to hiss. The statue, Slytherin, Hermione assumed, began to open its mouth. A black hole appeared. And something was moving in it. Potter was backing away. Hermione could only stare. She saw the shine of something scaly, then Tom was standing in her way with a little smile on his face. "You might want to close your eyes, Hermione," he shook his head a bit. "I worry about you sometimes."

Hermione ducked down and covered her head with her damp and crusty robes. Something heavy hit the floor and slid across the Chamber. Tom was hissing again, and then the basilisk was behind her. "You can look now," Tom said softly. Hermione glanced up. Tom was staring down at her. Tom was getting clearer and clearer as the minutes passed.

"Why didn't you let the basilisk kill me?" she asked.

Tom only smiled, and looked up to watch the progress of the snake.

"I'm a mudblood, aren't I?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"My parents are both muggles."

Tom shrugged. "People thought I was a mudblood for years. I proved them wrong. I think you will, too." His dark eyes fixed upon hers.

Hermione shivered and look over at Virginia. "What are you doing to her?"

"As she loses her life, I gain mine. Soon, she shall be dead, and I shall be whole."

Hermione brushed the flaming hair away from her pale neck and pushed two fingers into her flesh. She felt a faint beat after a moment. "What happens if she dies before you become whole?"

Tom was quiet. He crouched down beside her. "Look at me." He slid Hermione's wand beneath her chin and lifted her head to face him. He stared into her eyes. "You've killed before…" he murmured.

Hermione brushed him away. "No," she said emphatically.

"Yes," Tom stood. "You can't lie to me. You've killed. Just now. I saw it in your eyes."

"No, I _didn't_ ," Hermione felt a tear coming to her eye, and something lurched in her stomach as she tried to block the image of Lockhart from her mind.

 _Granger_ …

"Yes," Tom repeated. "Only second year. I myself had to wait a couple years more for my first…" he reminisced.

A screech echoed throughout the Chamber. A pained cry from the basilisk and the cawing of Fawkes framed the silhouettes of the battling animals. A flash a rage showed on Tom's face. He hissed furiously at the basilisk before turning back to Hermione.

"You have potential, Hermione. I can see that clearly. But you won't get what you need stuck here at Hogwarts."

"What, you want me to go off to university or something? Isn't Hogwarts the only magical school?"

"School, yes. Instructor? Mentor? No…" Tom crouched again, bringing himself close to Hermione and speaking softly. "I could teach you _great_ things, Hermione. You could be the most powerful witch in the world. You only need the right education."

Hermione bit her lip. Tom Riddle grew up to be Dumbledore's rival, the most feared man in the century. He didn't get there by showing up to Astronomy every Wednesday.

"Dumbledore would never allow you to prosper…" Tom whispered. "He doesn't trust you. He never trusted me."

"Dumbledore is gone."

"He will worm his way back in. He always does. The man is a parasite feeding off the lives of others. He would never allow you off his set path. He gives you little _choices_ , but they always end up at the same conclusion. His fingers are in everything. His strings are attached to everyone. He doesn't know how to _let go_."

Tom was breathing down her neck, his voice of velvet caressing her cheeks. "We can be great, Hermione. We can be great _together_. People like Dumbledore will fear us. Wizards will sing our names. The world will be ours. Together, we can remake it into something better. In a thousand years, little girls will dream of being sorted into _your_ house." Hermione was shaking. She looked up into dark eyes. Kind eyes. Tom cared for her. He was always worried about her. He only wanted what was best for her.

Power.

Status.

Legacy.

What more could she want?

The perfect hair.

That handsome face.

Those dark eyes.

What more could she want?

Tom smiled sweetly at her. "Look, Hermione, I'll show you what you can be." He swirled her wand in the air gracefully. Her entire head jerked. Pressure started to build in her mouth. Her hair pulled on her scalp. A moment later, her discomfort ceased. With another swing of her wand, a slice of air in front of her turned reflective.

Hermione put a hand to her mouth. Her front teeth had shrunk down to regular size. No longer were they sticking out oddly, but they fit almost perfectly in line with the rest of her teeth.

She noticed her hair was now a shade or two darker. And it wasn't bushy. The volume was still there, but condensed, and… less frizzy. What used to be a wild bush was now a cascade of chaotic kinks. Her normally shoulder length hair was now stretched down her back. Longer, darker, tamer… _Like Daphne_ , though it was milk chocolate to her dark chocolate. And nowhere near as straight or sleek or smooth or elegant. It was coarse. Unpolished.

Her face was filthy. A trickle of blood was dripping down from somewhere under her hair. Ash, dirt, and different sorts of muck were plastered on, but, all together, with a good cleaning, she was not unattractive. Not anymore. No longer saddled with distracting features, her face was pretty, even, Hermione thought.

"You look beautiful," Tom's voice sounded in her ear. Hermione felt a tingling as his spectral fingers brushed her cheek. Hermione stared into his eyes again. Someone thought she was beautiful. _Tom_ thought she was beautiful. "Is this what you want?"

"Yes," Hermione breathed without hesitation.

Tom smiled. "When we're done here, you'll never have to deal with Potter, or Dumbledore, or any of them again."

Hermione returned his smile. _That sounds nice_.

A clink of steel on scale drew Hermione's eyes from Tom. Potter was swinging a _sword_ at the basilisk.

The basilisk.

Hermione was staring directly into its eyes.

She wasn't dead.

 _It has no eyes_ …

The sockets were bloody and empty. Fawkes circled overhead.

Potter was backtracking quickly. Even blind, the basilisk could tell where he was. It followed, striking with its jaws where Potter had stood a second before.

But as Hermione watched Tom hiss at the serpent, something left her. His eyes flashed red. His face was contorted in an ugly rage – pure fury. Something in her heart broke.

 _I don't trust him_.

"Can I have my wand back, Tom?" she asked quietly.

"Later, dear," he said, patting her head without looking at her.

Hermione glanced at Tom, whose form was solidifying every second, then slowly to the little redhead girl on the ground. After a moment's hesitation, she reached out and took the diary out from under her pale arm, dropping it to the floor. Hermione slipped a hand into the girl's robes. She was rewarded with the feel of a cold wooden rod. Hermione gently pulled the redhead's wand out and tucked it into her robe sleeve.

The basilisk screeched. Its jaws were almost around Potter – the sword had been driven through the roof of its mouth and out the top of its head.

Potter pulled away as the basilisk squirmed and toppled over. The sword clattered to the ground. He stumbled backwards and fell a few feet from where Hermione sat. A long fang protruding from his arm above the elbow. Potter pulled the fang from his arm and dropped it, breathing heavily.

Fawkes soared to Potter and cooed softy, nuzzling him where the fang had entered.

"You're dead, Harry Potter," Tom said. "Even Dumbledore's bird knows it. He's crying."

Hermione stood with shaking legs, gripping the wand in her sleeve. The girl's face was peaceful. Pale. Emotionless. She was already dead. Doomed. There was nothing Hermione could do to stop it. Tom had her within his grip. Tom had them all.

"So ends the famous Harry Potter…"

 _Voldemort_ had them. The monster had killed Potter's parents. Killed so many people's parents. And siblings, and children. He was a murderer. The girl was already gone.

"… Lord Voldemort got you in the end, as you knew he must…"

What's one life, doomed to begin with, against the hundreds, thousands, that the Dark Lord reborn could slaughter?

Hermione let out a long breath.

She drew the wand and slashed it across Ginerva's throat. " _Diffindo!_ "

Except the wand wasn't in her hand as she finished the word. It clattered to the Chamber floor.

Hermione looked up. Both Tom and Potter were staring at her, Tom pointing her own wand at her. Potter looked horrified. Tom looked disappointed. "I thought we had something… special, Hermione," he said. He looked back at Potter, and jerked Hermione's wand around on him, "Get away, bird," Tom growled, and with a bang sent Fawkes flying off. "Phoenix tears… healing powers. But it makes no difference." _This is it_. Tom was going to kill Potter, then her, and then suck the life out of little Virginia. Hermione looked down at the girl. She hadn't done much to deserve this. "In fact, I prefer it this way."

Then a little black book caught her attention. A little black diary. Tom's diary.

 _A memory._

 _Preserved in a diary for fifty years._

Energy was being transferred from Virginia to Tom.

Tom was the diary.

Maybe Virginia wasn't so doomed, after all.

But she didn't have any weapon. Hermione looked at Potter. And the sword on the ground next to him. Then to the diary. Next to her foot.

And then she wasn't in the Chamber anymore. It wasn't dark and wet and dirty. A murderer wasn't about to kill her. She was back on the football pitch with her father. Just put the ball in the net, nothing more. Hermione looked at the angles. A side-foot wouldn't do, unless she could shoot with her weak foot. She couldn't. Which meant a right footed kick. The diary wasn't big enough for her to shoot with her laces. She knew what she had to do. And it went against everything she had ever been taught.

 _Sorry dad… S _ometimes a goal isn't about technique.__

"Tom?" Hermione called. "What happens if I stab your diary before you become whole?"

Tom froze, wand in mid-air. Then turned.

Hermione swung her leg, striking the diary with the tip of her shoe. Hermione's toe-poke sent the diary sliding across the slimy floor and right into Potter's gut.

Potter stared at it. Tom stared at it. Potter reacted quicker. But he didn't go for the sword. He picked up the fang and drove it into the diary's cover.

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

Virginia was spilling all of her secrets to Potter.

Ink was staining the floor.

Tom was gone.

Hermione walked to the spot he disappeared. Some part of her was sad. Some part of her was glad. The majority of her just wanted desperately to get out of there.

She picked up her wand, holding it close as if it were a sliver of herself reunited with the whole, and felt a little bit better.

Hermione looked back at the sobbing girl and the bloody boy. "I'm going to be expelled!" she was weeping. Potter was pulling her to her feet. Hermione found the girl's wand on the floor. She moved to return it to the redhead, but couldn't look her in the eye. Hermione tossed it to Potter instead and turned away.

The phoenix met them at the entrance to the tunnel. Hermione watched him with unease. _Is he glaring at me?_

Hermione led the way, her wand alight. Potter and Virginia followed with their own light. A few minutes of trudging brought them to the segment of tunnel they had left Ronald at. Sounds of rock against rock could be heard. "Ron!" Potter shouted. "Ginny's okay! I've got her!"

Ronald stuck his head through a small hole in the wall of rubble. " _Ginny_!"

Hermione was dubious that they could fit through the hole. And to get there they had to climb over…

Hermione held her wand higher so that the floor was not illuminated. The little Weasley rushed past her, but Hermione caught her arm. She turned, but Hermione avoided her gaze. "Back off, Ronald." Hermione warned, leveling her wand at the rubble. " _Reducto!_ "

A large section of rock shattered, leaving a much bigger hole off to the side of Ronald's work. Virginia scuttled through, assisted by a relieved Ronald. "Why didn't you do that before?" he said.

" _Somebody_ took my wand," said Hermione.

"Speaking of," Potter said, lowering Virginia's wand to the floor, searching for his own. Hermione stood at a distance, leaning to provide some additional light. After a minute, Potter recovered his wand and climbed through the breach. Hermione hesitated.

Should she… give him a proper burial? Cremation? What do wizards do? Does he deserve it? Hermione stared at the ceiling. _It just isn't_ fair _._

"You coming, Granger?" Ronald asked, poking his head into the hole.

"I – yeah." Hermione stepped slowly through the wall.

They walked all the way back to the mouth of the pipe without saying anything. Virginia was too scared to say anything. Ronald was too relieved. Potter was probably reliving his heroics.

Hermione just wanted to forget.

The phoenix fluttered in front of them at the pipe entrance, shaking his tail feathers. "He looks like he wants you to grab hold. But you're much too heavy for a bird to pull up there…" said Ronald.

"Fawkes isn't an ordinary bird," Potter said. "We've got to hold on to each other. Ginny, grab Ron's hand."

Virginia and Ronald linked hands. Ronald took hold of Potter's robes and Potter grabbed Fawkes' tail feathers. Virginia turned to Hermione, tears on her cheeks, and extended a hand. Hermione shut her eyes tight and held on.

After several moments of feeling lightheaded, with the air whipping through her robes and hair, Hermione felt the hard smack of the wet bathroom floor.

"You're alive," Myrtle ogled. Hermione stood quickly. Potter, Myrtle and Ronald exchanged words, but Hermione didn't listen. She was watching Fawkes, who was leading somewhere. _I'd like a phoenix as a pet_ , Hermione thought ruefully. But she doubted she'd have a chance. It was quite beautiful, and not afraid to take on a basilisk many times its own size. _Very Gryffindor_.

Hermione followed the bird in a trance. It was like she was walking down death row.

 _Attempted murder of a fellow student._

 _Four counts of accomplice to attempted murder of fellow students._

 _Accomplice to kidnapping of a fellow student._

 _Murder of a Hogwarts Professor._

Fawkes led her to Professor McGonagall's office.

Hermione was going to be expelled.


	22. Morals won't Save the World

**Chapter 22**

 **Morals won't Save the World**

Hermione stood as still as a statue in the doorway.

" _Ginny!_ " A large redhead woman with watery eyes bolted out of her seat and brushed past Hermione to envelop the two redheaded children. She was joined another redheaded man.

Behind them stood Dumbledore, on whose shoulder Fawkes had landed, and McGonagall. But Hermione's eye was caught by the advancing man in black robes with black hair, and he looked at her with furious black eyes. She tried to say something, but nothing came out. What was she going to tell him? That she killed a professor? That she tried to kill the little girl? That she so desperately wanted someone to want her that she was willing to sell out Potter, Weasley, and half to school and run away with Voldemort?

Snape grabbed the edges of her soiled robe and opened them, staring at the blood, slime, and water soaked school uniform. "You're filthy," he spat. Snape took her head in his hands, tracing the line of blood to her scalp. He moved her head this way and that, pulling on her hair roughly, trying to find the wound. After her head he moved down her body, poking and prodding at every bloody spot and checking for bone breaks with the ruthless efficiency she'd expect out of an army medic, not a glorified school chemist.

Hermione couldn't have fought off the gruff inspection if she had wanted to. As it was, the minor pain reminded her that she could still feel herself. Finally, evidently satisfied with his search, Snape pulled her hair so she was staring up at him. His face made her think he wanted to slap her. "Hospital wing, _immediately_ ," he ordered.

"Excuse me, Severus," McGonagall interrupted, "But I think we'd all like to know what happened."

" _Yes_ ," the redhead woman, probably Mrs. Weasley, said.

All eyes went to Potter. _Of course_ , Hermione thought, but she was relieved. She didn't want to incriminate herself. After a moment, Potter walked to the desk and laid down the sword, hat and diary, and began his story.

Hermione noticed that Snape had not left her side. _Slytherin is a family_. _If a Gryffindor attacks a Slytherin, you have their backs_. Maybe she would have an ally.

Potter was speaking about how all the pieces had fallen together. The voice. Dean's hunch. Spiders, pipes and bathrooms. Hermione finding the paper, Ronald thinking of Myrtle, telling Lockhart, going to Myrtle's bathroom and entering the Chamber.

He went on to describe Fawkes' arrival, the hat and the sword, how he fought the basilisk and won, completely skipping over any mention of Lockhart, Tom, the diary or Ginny. Now he hesitated, though, looking over to Dumbledore. Was he going to tell? Say something about her? What she had done? How things had ended?

But Dumbledore spoke for the first time. "What interests me most is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny, when my sources tell me he is currently in hiding in the forests of Albania."

The redhead man, Mr. Weasley, sputtered, railing at his daughter.

"It was this diary," Potter broke in. "Riddle wrote it when he was in school, I suppose."

Dumbledore had the diary in his hand. "Brilliant. Of course, he was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen. Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle."

"But, Ginny… What's our Ginny got to do with – with – _him_?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"His diary!" the girl cried. "I've been writing in it, and he wrote back –"

Mr. Weasley launched into a tirade about brains and Dark Magic. That only made Virginia sob some more.

"Miss Weasley should go up to the hospital wing right away," Dumbledore interrupted. "This has been a terrible ordeal for her. There will be no punishment. Older and wiser wizards than she have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort." Hermione swore she saw the old man glance in her direction, and her heart beat skyrocketed. _Does he know?_ The two adult Weasleys took the girl away. "You know, Minerva, I think all this merits a good _feast_. Might I ask you to go and alert the kitchens?"

"Right," McGonagall said. "I'll leave you to deal with Potter and Weasley… and Granger, shall I?"

"Certainly."

McGonagall left. Hermione was left alone with Potter, Weasley, and Dumbledore, and the old man was looking in her direction. "Is there something I can do for you, Severus?"

Hermione turned to see that Snape hadn't left with the others. "I don't believe it takes more than one to call a feast, headmaster."

"All the same, Severus, I feel like this conversation would be more… expedient if you were not present," the old man said gently.

"Miss Granger has sustained a head injury. I would be remiss in my duties as Head of Slytherin House if I left her alone."

Dumbledore smiled. "Do not worry for your student, Severus. I am fully capable of keeping Miss Granger safe."

Snape hesitated. "I don't believe she is in the right mind to … recall her actions properly."

"As I said, Severus, there will be no punishment. Rest assured that Miss Granger will be back in her den tonight, safe and sound." Dumbledore's serene smile did not fill Hermione with warmth. Snape turned sharply and left, but only after a moment's glare at Dumbledore.

When the door shut, the headmaster conjured three chairs and motioned for all of them to take a seat. Hermione trudged forward, eyes downcast. The interrogation started now.

The old man took the seat behind the desk and leaned back. "I seem to remember telling you two that I would have to expel you if you broke any more school rules," Dumbledore said.

"But you said –" Ronald blurted. Having his sister safely back seemed to returned him to his crass self.

Dumbledore held up a hand. "Which goes to show that the best of us must sometimes eat our words. You will all receive Special Awards for Services to the School and – let me see – yes, I think two hundred pins apiece for Gryffindor." Ronald shut up. "And Slytherin, too.

"But there seems to be one member of your expedition who _hasn't_ shown up. Where, might I ask, is Professor Lockhart?"

Hermione's heart threatened to leap out of her chest. She glued her eyes to the floor and willed her body to stop shaking.

 _Granger…_

After half a minute's silence, Potter spoke up. "He's dead, sir."

Dumbledore sighed deeply. "How did it happen?"

 _Killed by the basilisk_ , Hermione wanted to say – to shout. But the boys would never corroborate.

"Well, he… sort of attacked us, sir," Ronald began. "Hit Harry with a spell. I tried to disarm him but, well…" he held up his wand, literally taped together. _Weasley_ , she cursed. If only he had a proper wand this wouldn't have happened. _He_ wouldn't have happened. "I was thrown against a wall. Next thing I know I see Granger and Lockhart squaring off. She goes down, then there's an explosion and a bunch of rocks fall between us."

Potter was next. "He got me with a disarming charm, sir. I got knocked down the tunnel. Took me a while to find my glasses. I didn't see much either. But Lockhart was talking about… about saying Granger was the Heir and taking credit for everything… and…" he trailed off. Hermione knew they were all looking at her. She could feel their eyes boring holes like lasers into her.

"He was going to kill me…" she whispered without looking up.

Silence reigned.

 _Granger…_

"I must admit," Dumbledore said after a while, "That I misjudged Gilderoy. I would never have thought he could have–"

"But he did," Hermione muttered.

"– could have done something like that. I apologize profusely, Miss Granger. You should have never been in that situation."

 _Damn right._

"Can I assume that Gilderoy was crushed under the cave-in?"

After a moment, Potter said, "Yes, sir."

"Very well. Mister Weasley, I'd think you'd want to make sure your sister is okay, and to tell your brothers? Off you go." Ronald got up without a word and made his way out.

"Is there anything else you two would like to say on the subject of Gilderoy?" Neither of them said anything. "Mister Potter, if you don't mind, I'd like to speak to each of you separately. You may join Mister Weasley, but please do come by my office after the feast. I think we have much to discuss." Potter, too, left without saying a word.

 _And then there was one_.

"I must commend you, Hermione. You've shown great courage this year." Hermione looked up into his sparkling eyes. She didn't think so. "Under the gravest of circumstances, you have thrived. Not many in your house would dare speak out about blood prejudice, let alone actively pursue the Heir of Slytherin to the point of leading an incursion into the Chamber of Secrets."

"I think you are mistaking things," Hermione mumbled. "I never wanted to go into the Chamber."

"Nevertheless," Dumbledore smiled, "once there, you successfully defended yourself and your fellow students from a fully grown wizard."

"It wasn't a success," Hermione said spitefully. "I didn't win."

 _Granger_ …

Dumbledore's smile only widened. "It heartens me to hear you say that. I had worried that the… influence of Tom Riddle would have… changed you."

"Tom Riddle?" Hermione felt a wave of nervousness flow over her.

"You met him, no?"

Hermione nodded after a second.

"And what did he say?"

"He wanted to know how Potter survived," she said slowly.

"Yes, I believe he would, but I wasn't asking about that," Dumbledore peered over his spectacles at her. "What did he say to you?"

"He… he – he said I was like him."

"Oh?" the old man tilted his head.

"Alone… separated. For being different. A foreigner within our own homes."

"Tom always had a way of getting into people's heads."

"But he was right. I don't belong… _out there_. I'm a witch. I don't belong _in here_. I'm a mudblood."

"Hermione, you shouldn't call yourself that –"

"Why not? It's just a word. Is 'muggle-born' all that worse? They both mark me as different for who my parents are."

"One is a fact. The other is derogatory. I do not wish that word spoken in my school."

"Try walking the halls sometime. You'll hear that and worse."

Dumbledore sighed. "Children can be cruel. If you would talk to a teacher, I'm sure we could sort things out."

Hermione shook her head. "I can deal with my own problems."

"Do you not trust me? Or the professors?"

"One of your professors just tried to murder me." Hermione picked at the wooden armrest.

"But you don't trust me?"

"You didn't trust me, sir."

"Oh?"

"I told you Potter was the Heir."

"I knew it could only be Voldemort."

"But I wasn't off by much. Potter could hear the Basilisk."

"That doesn't mean he should be expelled."

"But he could have – you could have – if we knew it was a Basilisk…"

Dumbledore shook his head. "We can look back and say what we could have done, or should have done, but that won't change anything. We can be thankful that no student was fatally wounded. The mandrake draft is ready. Everyone who has been petrified will be made well again, and the Basilisk is gone."

Hermione was quiet. She wanted to leave. To crawl into bed and never come out. But she knew what awaited her in the darkness.

 _Granger_ …

 _You look beautiful_.

"Is something bothering you, Hermione?"

She blinked. "I – Tom – Riddle, he said… he said I could be great. If he taught me."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. "He offered to train you? Didn't he know you are muggle-born?"

"Tom – Riddle – he knew. He said we were alike. He said he proved that he wasn't muggle-born. And so could I."

"Thoughts like that can be… dangerous."

"I know sir. I know what I am."

"Do you?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "What were you thinking?"

"I thought about football," she deflected.

Dumbledore cocked his head.

"Football, sir. When I kicked the diary to Potter."

He chuckled quietly. "Did you not even… consider the offer?"

Hermione shifted in her seat. "Sir… the Sorting Hat… said that Slytherin makes dark wizards."

"Most houses do."

"But Slytherin especially. I was sorted into Slytherin."

"And you want to know if that makes you dark?"

Hermione nodded.

"Do you want to be?"

She frowned. "Do I want to be dark?"

"Yes, because it is a choice. You aren't a dark wizard because you are sorted into Slytherin. Neither are you Slytherin because you are a dark wizard. You are Slytherin because the hat saw something in you that could be cultivated in that house. So, do you want to be a dark wizard?"

"I – don't know. Tom – Riddle, he said we could change the world."

"And you want that." It wasn't a question. She nodded. "Change the world. That could mean any number of things. The most obvious is that you have ambition, something that should come natural to any girl in green."

"But I – I want to… I want something – wanted something Riddle offered."

Dumbledore looked into her eyes. Hermione didn't want to say what that _something_ was. "But you turned him down…?"

"Yes," said Hermione.

"Why?"

"Why, sir?"

"He had power. He had something you wanted. Why did you turn on him?"

"I… saw something I didn't like in him. I didn't trust him."

Dumbledore smiled. "You are a Slytherin, but I can't help but see some qualities from other houses in you, Hermione. You knew what he was doing was wrong and wanted to stop him."

"No, I did it to protect myself."

"Maybe on the surface. But deep down, you know that he was wrong, and you did what was right."

"There isn't right or wrong, Professor. There's what people _think_ is right, and what they _think_ is wrong."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Is there a difference?"

"That people think something is wrong won't sop it from happening. Morals won't save the world, Professor."

"No, people do. People with morals," he smiled. "As you did. So, I'll ask you again: do you want to be a dark wizard?"

Hermione furrowed her brow. "What kind of question is that? You're asking me if I want to be evil?"

"No, Hermione. A dark wizard is only what people _think_ is evil," he beamed. "As you just pointed out, there is no absolute _right_ or _wrong_. There are actions that are almost universally considered wrong, but the question is only there because _someone_ may think it right. A dark wizard is not _wrong_. Nor evil. Some people may _think_ so. Most may think so, but that does not make him evil. It does not mean he is a bad person, Hermione. We all have the potential in ourselves to be good or bad. It matters which we choose to act on."

"But the Dark Arts aren't taught at Hogwarts."

"For good reason. They can corrupt young minds – and old minds, too. They are chaotic. Neither good nor bad, merely powerful. The Dark Arts should not be taught. They should be _learned_ , but by only those who can handle them."

"Dark wizards?"

"And light. You don't always need to use what you learn."

"But if someone learns the Dark Arts, and uses them, that makes them a bad person?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Using them does not make you bad. It does not even mean you have done something wrong. A narrow minded person might think so, but I've seen too much. I've known many wizards in my time. Many who use dark magic. Many bad people. They do not all overlap. Just because Voldemort is a wizard who uses the Dark Arts and is a bad person doesn't mean that everyone who emulates certain facets of his personality, or feels as he did, becomes like him: someone who has perpetrated great evil, something very wrong. You may share similar circumstances – thoughts, even – but it does not mean that you are what Tom Riddle was, or would become. I've told you this before, and I will say it again. It is your _choices_ that define who you are.

"Someone may have the power to harness the darkest of spells ever created while at the same time have the purest of hearts in the world. Magic is neither good nor evil, right nor wrong. Magic is power. It is how the wizard uses magic that determines if it is good or evil, right or wrong. Spells thought to be _only_ evil, when used in the right way, may do great good. Spells with no connection to the Dark Arts can still be used for evil. Take Gilderoy, for example. He did not practice dark magic, yet he was, in the end, a _bad_ person. It's how you _use_ magic. Your choices are everything. I've seen the good in you, Hermione. If you want to be a dark witch, very well. Be one. Be the best dark witch the world has ever seen. But that doesn't mean you have to turn into a bad person along the way. You don't have to let others tell you what you must or mustn't be based on your house or your blood. It is your choice who you want to be. All you have to do is make it."

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

The halls of Hogwarts were empty. It was eerie. The only sound came from Hermione's squeaky footsteps. She passed through the corridors without taking her eyes off the floor. She knew the path to the dungeons. The Slytherin wall opened for her and she climbed through the passage.

Hermione froze. The common room was packed. It seemed like every Slytherin student was standing there. And they were all staring at her.

No one spoke for a second. Then a blond head poked out of the pack. "Where've you been, Granger?" Hermione couldn't speak as Malfoy approached her with a bewildered look. "You've filthy."

"Isn't it obvious?" Pansy called, "The little mudblood went hiding in the sewers when she heard Weasley was taken! Filth complements filth."

Hermione shook. She went for her wand, then stopped.

 _Granger_ …

She felt tears streaming down her cheeks. Pansy was laughing. _I can't do this_. She couldn't face the whole of Slytherin like _this_. Hermione turned and ran back down the hall, out the door and slammed against the opposite wall. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. Hermione had stopped the Heir of Slytherin. What would they say? Would they understand? Would they hate her?

 _They already hate you_ , said a little voice in her mind. _Now they will only hate you more_.

Hermione heard the wall split behind her. Still covering her face, she dashed down the hall to her empty classroom, closing the door behind her and sliding down onto the ground. Hermione sniffed and breathed deeply, trying to control herself.

 _Granger_ …

Someone was standing next to her. She saw a black shoe and followed it up to see Malfoy, halfway inside the room. "What's wrong with you, Granger?"

"Go away," she sobbed, pushing her hands into her face again.

But Malfoy didn't. He only closed the door behind him and stood there, watching her cry. "What happened, Granger?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Must have been something big. The Great Granger never seemed like the crying type."

After a minute, Malfoy sat down next to her.

"And you didn't hex Parkinson. That was… surprising. She was asking for it."

Hermione did her best to ignore him. Did he enjoy this? Was she just entertainment?

"Snape says there's going to be a feast. I think they caught the Heir. Hogwarts won't close down."

"I'm sure you're _so_ disappointed," Hermione sniffed.

"A little. I thought you'd become _less_ silly, not more."

"I'm not being _silly_." Her voice, muffled by her hands, sounded hollow.

"You show up after a few hours all mucky and bawling like a baby. It seems a bit silly to me, but you won't tell me what happened."

"Why do you want to know?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Mother and Father have these rules they keep telling me to follow. Tuck in your shirt. Tighten your tie… They've got rules for girls, too," Malfoy smoothed his tie. "Don't hit them. Don't say something crude in front of them. Open doors for them and so on. Now, Father says that if I see a girl crying I should walk the other way. She's just making a scene. But Mother, well, she tells me to ask what's wrong. Says it's what a proper wizard should do."

"You want to know what's wrong?"

"I suppose my mother wants me to know."

"And then what are you going to do?"

"Mother never told me what to do after. I'll improvise."

Hermione sniffed. "Lockhart tried to kill me."

Malfoy started. "What?"

"We found the Chamber. I didn't want to go in, but he pulled me down." Malfoy had stopped playing with his tie. "Once he realized we didn't know how to kill the basilisk, he was going to frame me as the Heir and kill me."

The blond boy fidgeted. "Where's Lockhart now?"

"The Chamber," Hermione breathed. "I killed him."

 _Granger_ …

"I killed a professor, Draco," Hermione looked bleary-eyed at the boy. " _Murdered_ a Hogwarts professor."

"But he… it was self-defense –"

"I _saw_ him die. _Watched_ him die."

He didn't say anything. He only looked around the room uncomfortably.

Hermione felt another wave of tears and threw her arms around the boy, burying her face in his robes. He went rigid, but didn't try to pull away. Hermione shook against him for a minute. He awkwardly patted her shoulder. "You're okay, Granger."

 _Granger_ …

"Don't call me that," she whispered.

"What… Granger?"

"Use my name, Draco."

Hermione felt his heart beating quickly, chest expanding and contracting with each measured breath. She tried to synchronize her breathing with his to calm herself. "You're okay, Hermione," he rested chin against the top of her head. She felt his sigh leave his lungs and brush past her hair. They sat there for a while, just breathing together.

"Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"Don't your parents have rules about being around mudbloods?" she asked quietly.

"Yes," he said quietly.

"Then why are you here?"

Another sign grazed her scalp. "I've been thinking. About what you said."

"What?"

"About why you're different from Creevy, or Thomas." Hermione tried to blink away tears. "They're mudbloods. Their parents were muggles who just _happened_ to make a wizard."

"My parents –"

" _You_ are a witch. You want _that_ to define who you are. From the first day at Hogwarts you knew you belonged here, that you never wanted to be muggle ever again. Even when Parkinson and Weasley were harassing you, you didn't want to leave. You wanted to show them you can be better than them. That you _are_ better than them. Hermione, you are a witch who _happened_ to be born to muggles."

Hermione used a corner of his robe to wipe her eyes. "That doesn't make sense."

"It does to purebloods."

"Not Pansy."

"To everyone who actually looks at you and sees a _person,_ it does. Has Millicent ever called you mudblood? Or Greengrass? Zabini _hates_ mudbloods, but he doesn't do anything to you. You know why? You've said it yourself. You'd rather die than leave the wizarding world. To mudbloods, magic is just something that sets them apart from muggles. But you're a witch. You think you need something that makes you different from everyone else _here_. Something that actually makes you special."

 _What exactly is he saying_? "They still won't talk to me."

"You see them as the enemy. Enemies aren't friendly. If you make an effort…"

"What, we'll become _friends_?" Hermione scoffed.

"We are," Draco said after a while.

"We're what?"

"We're… friends…"

Hermione pushed away from him and stared into his grey eyes. His lips weren't curled into some savage sneer. "Friends?"

He stood quickly, averting his eyes. "Yes, and I don't like it when my friends mope around. Not when they're keeping me from a feast. So get up, Hermione. I'm hungry."

Hermione accepted his offered hand and pulled herself onto her feet, then followed him out of the classroom. She struggled to find a clean spot of her robe to wipe her eyes off. The last bits of tears were being hunted in her eyelashes as they reached the Slytherin dormitory. "Wait," Hermione said, reaching out for Draco's arm to stop him. "Are we – are we still friends… in there?" She knew he was highly involved with Slytherin politics, something she had always avoided – or was frozen out of – and a muggle-born friend wasn't exactly the gold standard in Slytherin.

Draco looked over her outfit. "Only if you burn all of those clothes," he grinned. Hermione looked down. Every article - robes, shirt, skirt, socks and shoes – was soggy, bloody, or caked with mud and sporting a few holes. A little laugh caught in her throat. They did indeed need to go. She couldn't help herself. Hermione threw herself at Draco, wrapping him in a bear hug.

Draco patted her back lightly. "I might have to get rid of mine, too, if you keep touching me."

 _A friend_ , Hermione giggled and held him tighter.


	23. The Real World

**Chapter 23**

 **The Real World**

For the first time ever, Hermione was riding the Hogwarts Express in a compartment she belonged in. Draco had been discussing the Quidditch World Cup Qualifiers as they walked down from the castle to Hogsmeade station. Hermione had gotten by on her passing knowledge of the World Cup format (the _real_ one, not that she told Draco that) without adding much to the conversation. He could hold a one sided conversation for a while, she had noticed. Perhaps a drawback of hanging out with the lumbering oafs who followed behind them.

Draco didn't shut up about the infernal sport all the way onto the train. Hermione had been expecting that he would eventually drop her off somewhere, not wanting to be seen being friendly with a muggle-born. Studying was one thing. She was identifiably the best academic student in the year. Slytherin pragmatism meant that working with her could be allowed, grudgingly, but with classes over and no more studying to be done, the extension of civil relations would become anathema again. Or that's what Hermione thought. She had been expecting it since exams were cancelled, really. Steeling herself for the worst.

But it didn't come, and Hermione was beginning to think they were actually friends – a belief only bolstered when Draco pulled her into a compartment and began setting up shop with Crabbe and Goyle. Hermione claimed the seat nearest the window. She had never had a window seat before.

A minute later, Daphne showed up with Tracey, arm in arm as always, to take the seats opposite Hermione and Draco. He had to kick Crabbe and Goyle – who had sat down as well – to make them pick up and stash the girls' trunks. "A gentleman, as always," Daphne sniffed to Draco, eyeing Goyle as he placed her trunk in the storage above her head. Nott arrived soon after with Pansy in tow and their compartment was complete. _No room for Millie or Zabini_ … Hermione noted. She would gladly take Millicent over either Crabbe or Goyle any day, but somehow she thought that wouldn't happen.

"What're you doing for the summer?"

Hermione took a second to realize Tracey was talking to her. "Summer? Oh, I think I'm travelling. To France."

The blonde girl's face lit up. "France is _wonderful_. The monuments in Paris are delightful, but don't forget to visit the countryside. Gorgeous. Especially in the summer. The golden fields, rolling hills," Tracey beamed. "Sometimes I wish I lived there."

"Beauxbatons would be so much more sophisticated than Hogwarts," Daphne commented quietly. "I hear they have silk uniforms."

"Isn't Beauxbatons in Southern France? They must get warmer seasons," said Hermione.

"And prettier girls," Daphne curled her lip. Hermione was about to be offended, but saw a faint flick of Daphne's eyes to Pansy, squeezed in on the other end of the compartment next to the door. She returned Daphne's sly grin.

"Theo, what d'you say? England to win the World Cup?"

"Never," Nott replied scornfully.

"C'mon. We've got a good team this time."

Nott only shook his head.

"Then who?"

"Ireland," Daphne said softly, staring out the window as the train lurched forward.

" _Ireland_? You serious? With Lynch as seeker? They're hopeless."

"It's not all about the seeker," sighed Daphne.

"No, if it's not England it'll be Bulgaria," Draco scoffed.

"Bulgaria? Their chasers are trash," Nott frowned.

Draco grinned. "But they have a secret weapon."

"Ugly faces?"

"You'd be lucky to get a Bulgarian woman, Nott," hummed Daphne.

"What, a Veela?" laughed Tracey.

"That, too," Daphne giggled the most lady-like giggle Hermione had ever witnessed. The girl was a prodigy. _She could be the Queen of England's granddaughter and no one would think twice_.

"No, but I'm telling you, Theo, Bulgaria are going deep. Might even make it to the final, but England will take them down."

"Stop with this England crapalready. They're not going to make it," Nott shook his head.

"Then you'll make a bet?"

"We haven't even qualified yet," Nott snorted. "We're not even top of our qualifying group! Canada is going to get out on top."

Draco grinned. "Then you'll take the bet?"

"Taking your money won't be fun. It's too easy."

"How about… twenty galleons if England win?"

 _What's that, like, a hundred pounds?_

"And if they don't?"

"Twenty galleons."

"You're not even taking odds?" Nott furrowed his eyebrows.

"Twenty galleons," Draco grinned, extending a hand.

"You're throwing money at me," Nott said, shaking Draco's hand.

 _Rich kids_ … Hermione sighed. Sometimes magic doesn't change a thing.

 **I-I. ⌡. Γ┐**

The trip was enjoyable. Hermione was disappointed when the train started slowing down. It meant that the muggle world was fast approaching. _France_.

They all grabbed their trunks and began the slow march down the hall to get off the train. One by one, Hermione's companions split off to find their families, but she made steady progress towards the enchanted barrier. Soon it was only Draco and her left together.

"You going to have fun in muggle-land?" he grinned.

"Shut it," she smacked her shoulder into his.

"But really, though. Do you enjoy it?"

"Seeing my family will be nice."

"But it's no Hogwarts."

"It's no Hogwarts," she agreed.

Draco pulled to a stop. "Father's meeting me on this side of the wall. But listen, if you want to come by the Manor sometime this summer… see what a real _wizard's_ home looks like, I'm sure my parents wouldn't mind."

Hermione smiled. "Really?"

Draco shrugged and scuffed his feet. "Yeah, probably."

"I – I'm in France for most of the summer, though…"

"Amongst the muggles?" he sneered.

"I would think."

"After that, then. I'll owl you, or something," he nodded to himself. "I'll owl you."

"Alright, Draco." They stood there hesitantly for a second.

Hermione put her trunk down and hugged him. "Have a good summer."

Draco patted her back. "You too." He disengaged tactfully. "I should go find Father. See you later."

Hermione waved goodbye, picked up her trunk and rolled it through the barrier. She didn't know if it was just her, but the air on the muggle side of the wall tasted… odd. Murky. Polluted.

She spotted a man in a tweed blazer standing awkwardly and watching the trains steam by. Hermione smiled. She only knew one man who wore tweed in summer. "Dad!" Hermione rushed into her father's arms.

"There you are!" he lifted her off her feet and swung her around. "I was wondering when you'd get here."

"It's five o'clock, dad. The train was right on time," Hermione giggled.

"But I didn't know if their time was different, so I arrived half an hour early."

"The train was on time last year, too, dad," Hermione smiled up at him.

"But I didn't want to miss you," her father kissed the top of her head.

Hermione looked around the platform. "Where's mum?"

"She had an appointment at the office she couldn't reschedule."

"Oh."

"Had a good year?"

Hermione frowned. Had no one written to her parents about the Chamber? A rabid bigot with aspirations of murder?

 _Granger…_

"I – it was okay."

"Just okay?"

"I made a friend…" she offered. Hermione didn't want to upset her parents. They might... overreact.

"Ahah!" he stooped to pick up her trunk. "So that's why you didn't write us. Your mother was beginning to get worried, but I told her you probably found something better to do."

"Something like that." They began walking out of the station. Hermione decided she wasn't too old to hold her father's hand. "I need to get new robes and a uniform from Diagon Alley this summer."

"Why?"

"I burned a set."

"Burned?"

"Yeah. Magical mishap. Completely unavoidable."

"I see… So, what's with the hair?"

"Hmm?" Hermione pulled on her hair. Darker, longer, and just a bit more disciplined. "It's just… a new hairstyle." Her father harrumphed. "What?"

"I don't like seeing you grow up," he said with a wry smile. "Just remember, _you're still my little girl_." He squeezed her hand.

"Of course," she said, clinging to his arm and resting her head on his shoulder as they walked. "My friend invited me over for part of the summer. To see a real wizard's house."

"Oh? Well, your mother has been planning this trip to France for a while."

"I know. After the trip."

"Then I'm sure that'll be fine."

Her father loaded her trunk into the back of an old, powder blue sedan. Hermione smiled. Her mother had always told her father to sell it and buy a new car, but he never did. "So," he said as they closed the car doors, "Met any cute boys yet?"

Hermione wrinkled her nose at him. "Half the kids at school are boys, dad."

"Yeah, but are any of them cute?" he grinned.

"I don't know, dad. I don't watch them very much. They're usually idiots."

"Most are at that age. But if you talk to one, you might find you like him."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Was he _really_ trying to have the talk right now? Or was he just trying to make her uncomfortable? "I can talk to boys, dad. My friend is a boy."

"Oh," he said, taken aback. "Wait. That friend who invited you over?"

"Yes."

"A boy invited you over to his house?" he frowned.

"Yes, dad. My _friend_."

"I don't think so. No," he stuck the keys in the ignition and the car rumbled to life.

"What do you mean, no?" Hermione crossed her arms.

"I don't want some wizard boy sniffing around you."

" _Sniffing_? What happened to 'you might like one'?"

"I was talking about down the road... You know, like in twenty years?"

"I'm almost fourteen, dad."

"Fine. In ten years. Tell him you can visit in ten years. And you'll be back by eight o'clock sharp."

"Dad, he's my _friend_."

"He's a _boy_."

"He's my _friend_."

Her father glared at her. "What happened to your teeth?"

Hermione put her fingers to her teeth self-consciously. "Nothing."

"They're smaller."

"So?"

"So, what happened to them?"

"They – I fixed them."

" _Fixed_ them?" He was jerking on the wheel every time an adjustment needed to be made.

"They were too big. You know that!"

"How did you _fix_ them?"

" _Magic_ , dad! Magic."

He growled. "Your mother and I were going to set you up with braces."

"Braces, dad? They'd take _years_."

"Yes – but, we'd know they'd work and wouldn't hurt you."

"Magic didn't hurt me. My teeth were shrunk in a second."

"But…" he trailed off. "You didn't do all this for that _boy_ , did you?

"All what?"

"Your teeth. Your hair. You didn't do it to… didn't do it for the boy?"

"No, _dad_. I didn't _do it for the boy_. _I_ wanted it."

"Was it magic, too? You're hair?" he asked accusingly.

Hermione breathed heavily through her nose.

"Well?"

" _Yes._ Yes, it was _magic_ , dad!" Hermione snarled. "I'm a witch. Get it through your head. I use magic! _Magic_! I twirl my wand and cast spells and make potions and ride a broom! If I want to use magic to change how I look, that's my prerogative. If I want to go to my friend's house, you can't stop me. I'll just walk out. All I need is my wand."

"You can't use magic outside of school. And stop talking back to me or I'll ground you."

"Ground me?" she laughed. "All I do during summer is read! It's not like I have any neighborhood friends you can keep me from seeing."

"I don't think you'll need your wand for our trip to France."

Hermione hissed. "If you touch my wand, I swear I will raze Paris to the ground."

"Don't be difficult. Your mother is right. You need to keep your head in the real world."

"The real world? _The real world_? What the hell does that mean?"

"Language, Hermione."

"The _real_ world? I'm living in the real world, father. Every day that I take out my wand and use magic I'm living in the _real_ world."

"And what kind of careers are there in the magical world? Your school is in a castle. The entire banking system is operated by _goblins_ in a building that is one earthquake away from a collapse – it's a fantasy land!"

"I don't know, but it'll be a hell of a lot better than living with muggles."

"Oh, so you're calling us _muggles_ now, are you?"

"It's what you are. It's what everyone here is. I'm a _witch_. I'm different. It's that simple. I'll live in the magical world – the _real world_ – and make my way as a _witch_."

"You're different, Hermione," her father said quietly after a few minutes silence. "What happened?"

Hermione pressed her forehead against the cold glass of the window and watched the buildings of London pass by.

 _Granger…_

Inside her pocket she felt the familiar touch of her aspen wand and felt safer.

"I grew up."

* * *

 **...**

 **And there we have it: years one and two of Hermione's journey.**

 **The final score is 23 chapters, 60,084 words.**

 **Mudblood Mistress III chapter 1 has been posted.**


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